


Bring Him Down

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Animal Death, Asexual Character, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bottom Louis, Dark Character, Dark Harry, Grey-Asexual Harry, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers, Suicide, maybe bottom harry eventually too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 98,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve been busy the past couple days, but I promise I haven’t forgotten you.” Harry says, close to the truth as possible.</p><p>“Good. You may just break my little heart if that ever happens someday.”</p><p>“If, like you’re so sure I’ll remember you forever?” Harry counters.</p><p>“Admit it, I’m pretty unforgettable.” Louis’s confidence shines bright.</p><p>“Definitely one to keep an eye on.” Harry agrees in an entirely different way. Something about the glint in Louis’s eyes tells him he caught the intended tone of it, though.</p><p>Clearly he has some ideas about Harry himself, but there’s no way to accuse someone of being a killer without making yourself look bad or exposing your own background; a fact that Harry’s learned from enough firsthand experience. You either both recognize each other’s monsters, or neither one sees it coming.</p><p>Or, </p><p>The serial killer au where Harry only kills people who deserve it, and Louis is a gold digging murderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story inspired by multiple Dexter re-watches, timing of updates based on my current level of obsession with serial killers and psychopaths in real life. Hope you enjoy slow torture, ha.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimers: 1D boys will always own my heart, but alas, I have no legal claim to them. Not a serial killer myself lmao, just into documentaries & such. 
> 
> *Most importantly, death is obviously super trivialized in this. So if you can't deal with human lives being treated lightly, or extreme blood-lust and other sick thoughts about murder, then please feel free to click the back button at any time! I'll try to include trigger warnings for chapters with gruesome details, but just beware of the possibilities with a subject matter like this. I'm not here to entertain complaints about romanticizing true crime or whatever. It's a story. For entertainment purposes.
> 
> That being said, gore and gloom isn't all you'll find in here, it is a love story too! Just don't be surprised by the more intense parts.

Harry is not a psychopath. He feels things. He can easily recognize and identify his own feelings for what they are. Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Guilt. Most importantly, love. Harry’s been full of it since he was a chubby cheeked little kid, before he even learned to talk, he liked to hug everyone he met. He knows what love is.

He loved his birth mother, even after she was convicted for the deaths of twelve men, all of whom were former spouses of her personal clients at the battered women’s shelter she dedicated her whole life to. His father had left the family when Harry and his sister were just toddlers, so when his mom was caught it meant foster care for the two of them. By the time he ended up with his adoptive parents, he’d already been to four other homes without his sister. He couldn’t do anything to stop them from being split up and hasn’t been able to contact her since, but Harry loved her too.

He loves Liam and Sophia, and thanks them daily for everything that’s good about his life. If not for them loving him back, there’s no telling how fucked up he’d have turned out then. The way he is now is bad enough, but they don’t seem to think so. They also don’t know the full truth, but he loves them for the good they see in him as much as the good that’s clear in them.

He loved his first job as Liam’s apprentice in the glass blowing studio. Getting to watch and learn the process was like seeing magic happen right before his eyes. The thick drip of the molten glass being swirled and stirred together in a witch-like cauldron. All the sharp tools and every way they can be used to mold the cooling mixture into thousands of different creations, some incredible beyond words. The bright blues and yellows, and the way the red dyed pieces can be brighter and almost more enticing than blood. He loved the day he finally got to make his first piece, and he’s loved every step of the process on each project since.

He also loves his home in Miami. The blistering sun and the sea breeze, the palm trees and beach strips, the Cuban food and ice cream shops on every corner. The sticky heat that keeps him sweating even in the middle of January, the excitement of the colorful nightlife, and the smell of steam on the streets after a rare passing shower. He even loves the tourists and the rainbow of people that exist in the world; good and bad, pretty and broken, and he loves that nearly any type you could dream of can be found here. Especially the bad.

Like the sick fuck he saw on the news this morning, who raped and killed a young girl in a bar after she refused to go home with him on her own accord. Or the terrorist who shot up an elementary school in Orlando last weekend, who still hasn’t even been identified with a picture because they put a fatal bullet in anyone who may have seen them. Or the arsonist who lit the home of a family of seven on fire a few months ago, for no clear reason other than the thrill of the flames.

It started as a tiny urge, no doubt triggered by the trauma of watching his mother slice a man’s throat in front of his face before he’d even started kindergarten. Seeing someone bleed out and watching their spirit fade from their eyes changes a person. Hearing his own mother justify her reasons behind it at such an impressionable age has shaped his entire life. She never actually told him to start doing it, which he guesses is why he can’t bring himself to place all the blame on her, but he’s grown to resent her for being the entire reason he feels like it’s all he was ever really meant to do now.

_They deserve it, Harry. The world will be a better place without them. Think of all the people who will continue to suffer and die at their hands if someone doesn’t stop them now. Think of your future, of your own family who could be victims one day, and how you’d feel if you realized you could’ve done something to prevent it. This is a service to humanity, and every innocent life that’s ever been affected by these monsters. I don’t feel bad about what I do. As long as I’m only hurting people with blood on their hands, I’m helping._

Naturally, away from her toxic grasp and under the influence of some normal parental guidance, Harry was able to breathe on his own and bloom into himself. Now at 26, he knows exactly who he is and where his own priorities lie. He’s a professional glassblowing artist with parents and friends he loves, and a life he loves, and the capability to love at all.

Yet somehow, just like his birth mother, Harry is also a killer of evil.

 

*

 

Harry is in the studio behind the family’s shore-side gallery one morning when possibly the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen strolls in. The guy is tiny, curvy, and practically glittering in the light, though that could just as easily be from the sun rays shining through the colors of delicately crafted glass hanging from the ceiling above. He’s dressed simple and casual in a pair of navy Bermuda shorts and a crisp white tank that shows off his biceps and the ink drawn all over them. Harry’s brain dredges up the word mesmerized for how he feels in that moment.

“Sorry, the door was open, but I didn’t see anyone up front.” The guy says, stopping under the frame to admire the crystallized wonders all around the room. Harry understands that marvelous feeling, too. He still gets a little bit lost in the beauty of his work; the mosaic colors and patterns, each piece as unique as a personal fingerprint.

“Oh, it’s fine. Sophia just stepped out for lunch.” Harry says, slipping his heat gloves off one by one as he prepares to greet this lovely new face. “I’m Harry, one of the artists here. What are you looking for today?”

“Oh, perfect. You’d certainly be able to help me with a custom order then?” He asks, pushing the large frames of his shades up into his carefully styled mess of hair to reveal a set of eyes like Harry’s favorite vase; the first one he ever made, as a tribute to all the colors of the ocean and the serenity of its still waters.

That’s when Harry gets the first feeling. Not a romantic feeling in the slightest, but a familiar ominous little click that sets off a buzzer in his head. After all the years he’s lived a double life himself, he’s come to think of it as his spidey-sense for soul as dark and misguided as his own. This pretty new customer definitely has some secrets to protect.

“Sure,” Harry keeps up a perfect façade, despite his now brewing suspicions. “Did you have something already in mind, or just want to take a look around?”

“I was hoping to get a professional opinion, actually. I just moved here recently and had to remodel my back porch, so now that it’s finally done I’m hoping to find something quirky to add a bit of life to it.” He explains. “A local friend recommended your shop to check out.”

“Well, first of all, welcome to the city.” Harry says, politely extending his hand for a shake. The stranger’s grip is firm and confident like the rest of him. “How do you like it so far?”

“Oh, it’s beautiful.” His lips turn up into a slight smile. “I love the sunshine and the beach, and all the food so far is divine.”

“I know what you mean. Home sweet home.” Harry smiles back.

“I like this globe thing you’ve got going on here.” Suspicious Guy comments, waving over their heads to the plentiful glass spheres dangling above the room.

Everybody says that, without having the faintest clue of the fact that those Harry’s trophies. To make absolutely sure his victims are never found, he dumps the entire pile of ashes from a victim’s incinerated body into his first batch of glass after a kill and sets aside one simple piece for himself to keep, secretly selling off the rest in the gallery. The ratio of materials is so off balance that it doesn’t affect the look or feel of the art at all, but Harry knows. He gets a twisted sort of satisfaction from watching someone take home a sculpture with a bit of murder in it. _Bye, bye, evidence. Hope to never see you again._

Harry’s been trying to keep busy since he recently cut back on that little side hobby of his, but creating something magnificent from the remains of his monsters isn’t quite as satisfying as destroying them is. He wonders what kind of brilliant piece he could mold this absolute vision of a man into.

“Well, they’d be right at home in an outdoor space. The way the sunlight filters through them is quite the sight, as you’ve noticed.” Harry says.

“Are they for sale?” The customer asks.

“Not these ones, but it’s the simplest design to do. Won’t take long to make many more.”

“Maybe I’ll take a few of those, and some nice vases for the house as well?” The customer steps into the room, reaching to glide his dainty fingers over the smooth shapes of the sunset masterpiece Liam helped him craft earlier. “Do you do planters?”

“We can do just about anything you can think of.” Harry offers, keeping a careful eye on the stranger’s movements. He seems swift and careful in everything, with an odd sense of self-assurance like he’s somebody who doesn’t spend much time worrying about threats in his life. You don’t have to when you are one yourself.

Harry knows how to spot a killer all too well. The problem is they usually know how to spot him too. Suspicious Guy doesn’t seem to be onto him as of now, but that is the whole point of a pretense. He could just be expert at hiding it.

“Just a set of those too then, and I think that’s it for today.” He decides.

“A large order like that’s going to run you quite a bit.” Harry warns.

Too many customers get put off by prices when they’re looking to buy, but with each piece requiring hours of concentration and all the expensive tools and chemicals that go into the process, it’s not without reason. At the end of the day Harry still only makes enough to live comfortably by himself, which is really all he needs anyway. He just wishes more people would realize that art like this is worth it.

“Pricing isn’t an issue.” The guy assures him, looking up with his lips curved into a pleasant smile.

He’s good at this.

“Alright then, did you have a color scheme in mind?” Harry asks next.

“I prefer cool colors, the blues and greens and purples.” He says. “Though you seem to know what you’re doing, so you can surprise me. Your work is exquisite.”

Maybe Harry will get to surprise him someday, but not in the way he thinks.

“Thank you, I do take pride in it.” Harry beams; he’s good at this, too.

“As you should. I can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with.”

“Do you have any pattern preferences? Textures, or specific shape designs?” Harry asks, leading the way back through the gallery so they can view some of the other examples on display.

“Is this an interrogation?” He jokes with playful eyes.

_Not yet._

“Just being thorough. It’s not often we’re allowed such free reign on custom pieces.” Harry explains.

“The stripes and ridges are cool, maybe for the vases?” The guy deliberates as he circles the edge of the room, stopping to examine a row of pre-made vases set on a shelf above his head. “I’m a big fan of abstract coloring… and I like the big, wavy edges a lot too. But you’d know better than I would.”

“It would help to have a picture of the deck, so I know exactly what I’m creating for.” Harry says. It would also help his own personal mission to see a piece of where this guy lives, to get a better handle on who he is and what kind of life he leads. He needs to find out as much as he can before making any serious moves, of course.

“I don’t have any visuals on me now, but I could stop by tomorrow for a consult?” He offers.

“Sure, anytime. I’ll be here all day.” Harry says, shuffling around behind the counter to find the application for him. The form he’ll have to put a full name and address on, which Harry can use to investigate with. “I just need you to fill this out so we can have your order on file, and you’ll get a call as soon as it’s ready.”

“How long do you think I’ll have to wait?” He asks, scribbling down the information that Harry’s mouth is practically salivating over. He hasn’t set his demon free in so long it’s rattling the bars of its cage to get out and play now.

It’s one thing to go digging around crime scenes and court houses for confirmed murderers, but a whole other for one to just be dropped in Harry’s lap like this. If his feeling about this customer is accurate as usual, this may as well be the universe’s green light for Harry to strike again.

“Couple weeks, tops. We’ll try to have it done as soon as possible.”

“Absolutely no rush, just being curious.” He says, looking up now with one last smile as he slides the application across the desk. “Thank you, Harold. See you soon.”

 

*

 

“What can you tell me about someone called Louis Stevens?” Harry asks his closest friend over beer and old sitcom reruns that night.

Niall is a former FLPD officer turned detective turned private investigator, and another blessing from the merciful higher powers that seem to have Harry’s undeserving back at every turn. They met a few years ago when Harry was chasing a pedophile that Niall also happened to be following for a client, so he watched Harry sedate the guy and dump him in the back of his jeep, never to be seen again. Harry was obviously unaware that anybody was around to witness his crimes that night, but some days later Niall got up the courage to approach him with a mysterious thank you, and they stuck together after that.

Harry doesn’t get to know many people for obvious reasons, but he figures anyone who’s even a little bit on his side is worth keeping around.

“Name doesn’t ring any bells, why?” Niall asks.

“Just a customer we got today.” Harry stays casual. “Seemed fishy to me.”

“You asking me to look into him for ya?” Niall gives him a pointed look.

He doesn’t know all the gory details of Harry’s hobby, but as a trained detective it’s probably not hard for him to piece together the fact that everyone Harry’s ever asked him to dig up information on goes missing shortly after. There’s a barrier there, a sort of need-to-know basis where Niall doesn’t ask unnecessary questions and keeps the judgements to himself. Harry thinks it’s some kind of support in a weird way, like maybe despite his retired vows to uphold the law, Niall wants these criminals dead just as much as anyone else would, knowing how many innocents have suffered at their filthy hands.

He must’ve dealt with a lot of murder in his life to be so desensitized that he can turn the other cheek to it happening with his help, but that’s not something they talk about either. He has his reasons and Harry has his, and if making human connections has to be such a necessary a part of keeping up appearances, then Harry couldn’t ask for a better companion than Niall.

“Would you?” Harry carefully holds his gaze.

“’Course I can.” Niall says. “Sure you know what you’re doing, though?”

“Like I’ve never been down this road before.” Harry reminds him, downing another sip.

“I know, just thought you’d called it quits for a while.” The amount of concern on Niall’s face is only slightly troubling.

Harry’s gotten himself into some nasty situations before, with people even more dangerous than he is. When Sophia was kidnapped on his account last year, he decided it was time to back off a bit. After he got her back safely and killed the guy of course, with a shaky explanation about how it must have been an old partner of Anne’s looking for revenge. Not that he wants to keep attracting bad shit into his life, but it sure is convenient to be able to blame any weird happenings on her admitted wretchedness.

“I did. It’s been a while.” Harry says.

Six months seems to be his limit. He might be capable of cutting back on the amount of kills he does over a span of time, but it turns out he can’t stop doing it all together. So he’s just being extra careful who he messes with now.

“Okay.” Niall accepts that logic. “Got anything else besides a name?”

“Well he left his address and phone information on the order form, but when I Googled around all I got was a lot of Shia Labeouf’s adolescent days.” Harry says, making Niall snort. “Couldn’t even find him on social media or anything. Either this guy is a total ghost, or I just don’t have the right spy skills and equipment to find him.”

“You have a really warped idea of what I do for a living. It’s not that glamorous.” Niall rolls his eyes. “S’ just a lot of database searches and stakeouts. Half the time it turns out to be just the same old cheating douchebags anyway… These little quests you send me on are the highlight of my days. You sure do know how to spot the wild ones.”

“Natural talent.” Harry accredits. Niall reinforcing his psycho sense makes him twice as confident that he isn’t wrong about Louis. He still won’t risk killing an innocent man though.

 

*

 

When Louis shows up to the gallery the next day, it’s in a pair of tiny white shorts and a loose grey tank top; something to show off the script scrawled across his collarbones and his delicious golden legs. His shades are already settled in his hair to expose his blue blue eyes, and Harry has to make a mental reminder that he is just a victim and nothing more. That turns out to be a little more difficult than it should though, as Louis has also brought a container of food with a little “Harry” sticky note on top. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d think he was being seduced.

“You brought me lunch?” It’s too charming to be anything besides another check in the box of common traits to look out for.

“Sort of. I already had a couple hundred prepped for later, but figured since I was headed here anyway.” Louis shrugs, making Harry backtrack a bit. “It’s Carne con Papas y Arroz. Meat and potatoes and rice. I’m not sure what your palate is like, but I do remember you agreeing about the food yesterday, so I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Sounds delicious. Thank you, this is so thoughtful.” Harry smiles, lifting the top to peek inside and sniff the heavenly meal. “You made a couple hundred of these in one morning?”

“That’s the job.” Louis says. “I run a business. Just a modest little food truck, but we do quite well around here. The meals don’t cook themselves, though.”

“That’s an interesting career choice.” Harry notices.

“More interesting than making glass art for a living?” Louis counters, raising a coy brow.

“You got me there.” Harry admits, asking in the next breath, “So why vases and planters then, rather than something like dishes or spice jars for your kitchen?”

“I’m particular about my home, and the kitchen is important to me. It has a specific feel that just wouldn’t mesh with this type of art.” Louis says. “The deck is more of a relaxation spot, and I intend to take advantage of this gorgeous weather by growing some fresh herbs out there. They say gardening is supposed to be therapeutic.”

“And therapy is something you need.” Harry assumes, or maybe accuses. His gut is telling him this guy seems way too harmless and put-together to be anything but the opposite.

“Couldn’t we all benefit from a weekly session or two?” He counters.

Harry holds his gaze for a moment. There’s a fleeting second where he catches a flash of recognition, but maybe he’s just imagining it. He’s not entirely sure what to think anymore. Louis is either really good at this, or just really good in general.

“Let’s have a look, then.” He changes the subject, prompting Louis to pull out his phone and flick through the folder full of pictures while he assesses.

The place has lots of open space and seems oddly upscale for someone who makes a living selling food from a truck. It does have a cool, chilled out Spanish influence to it, and it feels like something that should be teeming with greenery and decorated in all kinds of little trinkets and marvels. Harry’s art will fit right in there.

“Not the opinion you asked for, but I think it could use some flowers.”

“Do I seem like a flowery kind of person?” Louis asks, looking up from underneath his leashes with those big, sugary eyes.

“Just… brighter than this.” He says, deliberately keeping his focus on the images in front of him. He refuses to let Louis melt him into forgetting his mission. “I can see why you’d feel like it needs some décor.”

“Maybe it could use some nice plants too.” Louis ponders out loud.

“I think some spirals like those,” Harry looks up to point at a display of large, swirly shapes spinning from the ceiling in the corner, “Would be better for the roof of this place than the spheres. It just has more of an eclectic vibe, I feel.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. That’s what I was going for.” Louis nods in genuine agreement. “Spirals instead of spheres then. You’re the expert.”

“I’m glad you brought these by. It helps to get a better feel of the building.” Harry says. “And now I have a good idea of about how big to make the planters and vases, too.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Louis beams. “Feeling prepared to take on this project now?”

“I can’t wait to get started.” Harry grins back. “You’ll be hearing from me very soon.”

“I like the sound of that even more.” Louis says, pulling his aviators back down over his eyes now. “Thank you again, Harold, dear. I’ll be waiting on the edge of my seat for that call.”

“Bye for now, Louis. Thanks for lunch.” Harry smiles as he waves Louis out the door.

 

*

 

“It’s an alias.” Niall greets him over the phone the next morning without even a hello first.

“Well, there’s only two kinds of people who have the need for a fake name.” Harry says. Those who are hiding from someone and those who you should probably hide from. So which is Louis?

“Took a bit of digging to find anything on this guy, but his real name is Louis Tomlinson.” Niall goes on. “Got married to some rich old bachelor when he was just eighteen, became Louis Winston. Moved to Boston from London about two years later, after his ex died of a random heart attack.”

“Yeah, random.” Harry says, instantly buzzing with the satisfaction of having his next target nearly confirmed.

“It gets better.” Niall says. “He’s moved states every two years since then, with a new last name each time. Only that one marriage, though.”

“So what’s he running from?” Harry wonders.

“This guy’s got bank accounts buried under bank accounts, and more of a fortune in each one than I’ll ever see in my life, my future children and grandchildren’s lives combined.” Niall says. “He owns a few properties here and there, a private jet, and two yachts, Harry. _Two_. How is one not enough?”

“So he’s a gold digger.” Harry gathers. He obviously didn’t earn stacks like that from his front job. A food truck, Harry mentally scoffs. How perfectly quaint and safe. It keeps him mobile, he can blend in right in plain sight, and stalk his victims when or wherever he chooses. Harry’s actually impressed. Louis’s got this act so down pat, even he was almost fooled by it.

“I’m guessing he’s got a pattern. He finds some rich guy to mooch off for a couple years, then gets rid of them and moves on with his winnings.” Niall summarizes. “I just don’t see how he’s getting his hands on this money, when there’s no record of marriage under any names besides Tomlinson. Winston. Whatever.”

“There’s more ways to extort money from someone than to marry them and inherit everything.” Harry points out.

“Guess you’re right.” He agrees. “Your mind works more like his than mine does.”

“I’m not like him, Niall.” Harry defends himself. He doesn’t leech off people for his own selfish gain, or kill them just to get what he wants. He kills to take out trash like Louis, who doesn’t care enough to differentiate between the good victims and the bad ones. All they care about is the kill and what they can get out of it. Harry is better than that.

“I just meant you’re better at analyzing motives and stuff like this. You’ve got inside experience.” Niall says. “You have to think like a killer, cause… you know.”

“What else have you got for me?” Harry pushes, knowing Niall still isn’t comfortable with actually saying it out loud yet. Fine by him. The less they discuss it in depth, the better. Harry’s sure that his friend wouldn’t be able to handle the gruesome truth about how much he enjoys his hobby. Feeds off of it. He loves Niall too, and isn’t ready to lose him over such petty moral conflicts.

“He’s got a family back home overseas, but from what I found it looks like they haven’t been in contact since he moved to the states.” Niall wraps up his info spiel.

“Perfect, so no one will miss him when he’s gone.” Harry’s already plotting in his head, thinking of how, when, and where to catch Louis and bring him down.

“Today’s stakeout day one, so I’ll keep you posted if I find any hard evidence.”

“Can I come along?” Harry dares to ask.

Niall is very professional despite his deviation on Harry’s part, so he’s always kept out of the investigation process. Niall prefers to do all the work and report back to Harry with anything vital instead. What he said the other night kind of got into Harry’s head, though. If it’s as easy as just following someone around all day, why not learn the trade, eliminate the middle man, and keep Niall from getting too involved next time?

“I don’t know, H, what if he recognizes you?”  
“We’ll be far away, right? So he won’t notice me unless he’s really looking.” Harry argues.

“And if he is?”

“Please, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Harry promises, pouting his bottom lip out, nevermind that Niall can’t see it through the phone anyway.

“Fine.” He finally sighs, “Be ready in ten minutes. On my way now.”

The line clicks dead right after.

 

*

 

Niall’s right about the excitement levels of private investigation, that’s for sure. Harry would honestly rather be at the studio than sitting in a car watching Louis work from a hundred feet away, but. He did beg to be here.

“When do we get to the good part?” Harry whines.

“I told you what to expect.” Niall berates, staring through the viewfinder of the distance camera held in front of his face.

“You also said I know how to pick the crazy ones. All he’s done so far is pass out food to homeless people.” Harry complains. That’s not very reassuring to his gold-digging murderer theory at all. Louis does charity with his harmless little food truck. It’s foolproof; no one would ever have a reason to suspect him if they didn’t know what to look for.

“Didn’t we conclude that his process takes years to complete? He obviously doesn’t just go around killing in cold blood every day.” Niall says.

“What exactly are we hoping to find, then?”

“You don’t go into a stakeout with a guarantee that you’ll find anything.” Niall advises. “You just watch and gather.”

“Gather what? That he’s excellent at putting on a mask and acting like a nice person to hide in plain sight?” Harry gripes. “I knew that already. All the good ones have to be.”

“Is he good or bad now? You lost me.” Niall jokes.

“He’s great at hiding how bad he is, Niall. Obviously.”

“Maybe he takes more than one victim before he moves, and we’ll see him catch someone eventually.” Niall hopes. “Or maybe he’ll start vetting the next rich bachelor soon. If it looks like he’s going to hurt someone, you’ll get him before that happens, right?”

“I’ll do what I can.” Harry says. “I’m not trying to risk anyone’s life but my own again.”

“Shit,” Niall breathes, lowering the camera now. “Shit, Harry, fuck. He sees us.”

“What? How?” Harry panics, sinking down in his seat to avoid being seen through the windows.

“I don’t know, maybe he’s got that maniac sense you have! I knew I shouldn’t have let you come along!” Niall pushes against Harry’s arm. “I never get caught when I do this on my own!”

“Calm the fuck down, he’s not going to do anything in broad daylight.” Harry whispers.

“He’s coming over here. Fuck, we’re screwed. He’s gonna kill me. You put me on his radar, dammit.” Niall frets.

“I said calm down!” Harry hisses. “Just act normal. Follow my lead.”

 

“Harold, I thought that was you.” Louis smiles as he approaches the vehicle, bending slightly over to talk to them at eye level through the open window.

“Oh, Louis! Hi!” Harry smiles back. “What are you doing here today?”

“Work.” Louis nods across the way, where his truck is still parked by the sand. There’s a ‘closed for lunch’ sign on the closed barrier. “And you have a day off, I guess? Seems like you two are having a bit of fun over here.”

“This is my friend Jonah.” Harry lies, gesturing to Niall who just nods with a little wave hello. “He’s um… having some relationship trouble, so we’re kind of… following someone today.”

“You mean you’re stalking his spouse to confirm whether they’re a cheating shitbag or not.” Louis smirks. “That’s naughty. I like it.”

“Of course you do.” Harry can’t help but banter back.

“Well, I won’t bother you then.” Louis says, “Unless you want another free meal? I’ve got plenty to spare.”

“What’s on the menu?” Niall perks up.

“Bento boxes.” Louis says. “Today’s special is chicken meatballs with fruit, rice, and crab salad, but I could list off the other options too if you’d rather have something else.”

“If it’s anything like the food you brought by the other day, I’ll have some.” Harry says, looking to Niall for his answer.

Harry ate every last bite of the first meal, and was honestly kind of sad to find the container empty after the fact. It wasn’t as good as Sophia’s genuine homemade Cuban cuisine, but still pretty damn delicious. A gorgeous man who can cook like that would be such a shame for this world to lose, if he weren’t also a greedy serial killer too.

“Nothing like that at all actually,” Louis chuckles, “But still a masterpiece in its own way. Jonah, you too?”

“Please. I could use a nice meal to settle my nerves today.” Niall say, completely honest for a different reason.

“No problem at all, I’ll be right back.”

“He seems so nice.” Niall comments when Louis walks away.

“Yeah, I’m nice too.” Harry counters.

“I didn’t expect him to be so… cute, though.” Niall says, quickly correcting, “He’s like, dainty.”

“Niall, it’s an act. A very good one.” Harry reminds him. “Don’t start getting a soft spot.”

“I’m just saying he’s not as scary as I thought he’d be.” Niall shrugs. “Guess he’s the silent killer type.”

“Which are the most dangerous. We’re the ones who get away with it.” Harry reminds him, just as Louis returns with an armful of food.

“Here you are, boys. Enjoy.” He hands the boxes to Harry with a big smile, brushing their fingers together when he takes them. The reason his heart jumps at the brief moment of contact is adrenaline and nothing more, Harry rationalizes.

“Thanks, man.” Niall grins.

“Much appreciated.” Harry agrees. “Good luck with business today.”

“Thank you. Good luck finding whatever it is you’re looking for.” Louis says, way to cryptic for it to be about the suspicious boyfriend story Harry just fed him.

In that comment it becomes clear that Louis definitely knows they’re onto him, which means Harry has to tread carefully from here on out. The smart thing to do would be to find another mark, but Harry’s sort of determined to crack Louis now. Suddenly it has to be this one to get him back in the game again.

 

*

 

Louis catching them on a stakeout means they can’t very well follow him around anymore, and he’s less likely to do anything worth finding out in public now that he knows someone’s paying attention. They’ve yet to get any solid evidence though, so far it’s all just theories and speculation. Harry has his rules and principles for reasons that he’s never deviated from them before, so he isn’t going to start now.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do.” Niall lays out the plan for him as they sit in his car down the block from Louis’s house the next morning, “We wait for him to leave for work, and when he’s good and gone, I’ll give the signal for you break in.”

He slaps a simple lock pick into Harry’s palm and asks, “You know how to use this?”

Harry just gives him a look. A seasoned killer like himself has to know the most basic way to snoop through someone’s things.

“Just checking.” He says. “The house is armed, of course, but after researching the security company he uses, all I had to do was call and pretend to be him for access to the records on file. The code to the alarm is 020189. Disarm it within thirty seconds or we’re screwed.”

“So weird, that’s my birthdate exactly.” Harry notices.

“Beautiful. You’re like soulmates.” Niall says, voice thick with sarcasm. “I’ll keep watch out here, so make sure you can check your phone in case I have to call for something.”

“Got it.” Harry confirms. He’s not nervous at all; buzzing, more like. The rush of getting back in the swing of things is like no other. He can’t wait to see what he’ll find inside.

A whole lot of nothing, as it turns out. He didn’t think Louis would be hiding bodies in his closet or anything, but he didn’t expect the place to be so clean either. He was hoping for a murder weapon, a legal document, some obvious souvenirs or something, but nope. Harry doesn’t have time to turn the entire house upside down and he can’t leave anything noticeably out of place either, so it’s not as thorough of a search as he’d like, but he can’t come up empty handed.

The kitchen is sleek and modern, everything perfectly arranged in the fridge and in cabinets and on the shiny countertops. Harry notices a large block of various chef knives, each one slotted into place next to each other, row upon row of sparkling and sinister stainless steel. For Louis’s cooking business, of course. Maybe they double as weapons too, but his alibi holds true regardless. Harry knows to keep his eyes peeled for even a tiny speck of blood or other DNA anywhere though.

He’s not sure if he’s been to Louis’s bedroom yet; he’s dug around in two different rooms with beds in them, but none of them with a trace of anything he can use. The third room with a bed has a bureau attached to a mirror, and amidst the bottles of cologne and scented lotions lined up across the area, a fancy box of Chinese influence wrapped in silky black with fierce golden dragon embroidered across the top. Harry opens it to conclude it’s just a fancy sunglasses case.

They’re pricey looking shades, but it seems a bit silly to keep only five pairs in this little box when Harry already found a collection of shades in the closet of this same room…

Trophies, it clicks in his head.

He picks one up to closely examine every inch, and spots two little letters engraved on the side arm without the RayBans logo on it: B.W.

Another pair has N.G. on it, and there’s S.K., and M.I., and L.M., and these are definitely initials. If Louis is hunting down rich men every couple years, Harry can bet that each one of these stands for a missing person’s case.

“Did you ever get a full name on his dead husband?” Harry asks Niall after a quick ring.

“Some small-time movie producer from London. Ben Winston, I think?” Niall says.

B.W.

Harry’s got his fucking proof. How he manages to keep it together without breaking something out of sheer excitement is beyond comprehension.

“I think I just found his collection.” Harry confirms.

“Just in time, because it looks like he forgot something. Get out now.” Niall warns.

Harry clicks off, carefully placing the shades back as best as he can remember, giving the room a quick sweep to make sure nothing’s left out of place, and dashing down the hall. He can’t very well go out the front door, but he’s on the second floor so he doesn’t even want to risk going downstairs. He gets out to the recently renovated porch, readying himself to land on his feet when he leaps over the side.

A door opens from somewhere distant, so Harry swallows his spit and hurls the entirety of his weight over the side of the building. Thankfully, the grass is soft enough below that it cushions his fall. He still ends up rolling over on his back after he hits his side funny, but at least he’s alive and uninjured.

He picks himself up and dusts the green off his . He hears the porch door open and fills with panic, freezing him in place for a brief enough moment that Louis steps out into the sun.

“Harold?” Louis pokes his head over the railing, looking down at him with sparkling blue confusion.

“Harry isn’t short for anything, you know.” He comments, avoiding the subject.

“Noted.” Louis says. “Care to explain what you’re doing in my backyard?”

“God, this looks bad, doesn’t it?” Harry frets, trying to think on his feet for a reasonable excuse that won’t get him killed someday.

“Kinda looks like you’re stalking me, too.” Louis accuses, but this time it’s light and teasing. Harry suspects flirting must play a big part in Louis’s process, because there’s no way he would actually be into somebody he knows is onto him, right? “But I assume there must be a more logical story behind it than that, so I’m all ears.”

“It’s—I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I saw you outside, so I followed you this way out of curiosity.” Harry lies.

Louis clearly doesn’t buy it, but at least he plays along anyway.

“Missed me that much, huh?” He asks, lips curling up into a hint of a smirk.

“And I was hoping to see the deck up close, too.” Harry swerves. “Your home is lovely. From the outside.”

“Thank you.” Louis fully smiles now, changing the subject when he continues, “For someone who seemed so dedicated to his work the other day, you sure do take a lot of time off. I bet you haven’t even started on my pieces yet, have you?”

Well, no, not really. Since meeting Louis, Harry’s time has been sucked up mostly by investigating him. Harry’s been in the studio a couple times, but only because Liam and Sophia would start to wonder what he’s up to if he didn’t show up at all.

“I’ve been busy the past couple days, but I promise I haven’t forgotten you.” Harry says, close to the truth as possible.

“Good. You may just break my little heart if that ever happens.”

“If, like you’re so sure I’ll remember you forever?” Harry counters.

“Admit it, I’m pretty unforgettable.” Louis’s confidence shines bright.

“Definitely one to keep an eye on.” Harry agrees, in an entirely different way. Something about the glint in Louis’s eyes tells him he caught the intended tone of it, though.

Clearly he has some ideas about Harry himself, but there’s no way to accuse someone of being a killer without making yourself look bad or exposing your own background; a fact that Harry’s learned from enough firsthand experience. You either both recognize each other’s monsters, or neither one of you sees it coming.

  
“What’s the rest of your day look like?” Harry is taken completely off-guard by such a prying question.

“I guess I should get back to work sometime, since you’ve called me out on my slacking.” Harry says. He just gets distracted by other missions for a while, but he does always drift back to his appropriate passion in the end.

“Well since you’ve already missed a couple days this week, what’s one more going to hurt?” Louis tries to persuade.

Truthfully it could hurt a lot, given the way Harry chooses to spend his days off when he takes them. He’s put his family in danger more times than they even know about before, but with Sophia back home safe after the latest debacle, Harry’s never going to risk them that way again. Louis has to die soon, because he knows exactly where to find them if he feels so inclined to take another innocent victim.

“That depends what you’ve got in mind.” Harry decides.

“I was going to ditch work today myself, actually.” Louis admits. “I’d planned to bring the boat out this afternoon and spend some time on the water. A bit of company might be nice, if you’re interested.”

Tempting, so tempting. Harry does love the ocean. And he loves luxury, seeing as he doesn’t get to experience it often enough for it to be anything but a special treat. Louis has yachts and he’s offering to seclude them both out in the middle of the sea, where no one could witness a murder attempt unless they were right there with them.

This could either end really well or be a total disaster, but Harry’s willing to bet high on himself being the one to come out of it alive.

“Alright, you’ve roped me in.” Harry agrees, smiling in false innocence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [perlasrosa](http://perlasrosa.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr in case you're interested. However, comments and feedback here are greatly appreciated :) x


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: With the help of his right-hand, Niall, Harry's found a new target in Louis. He may or may not be onto Harry too, so one of them has to act fast.

After shooting off a quick text for Niall to tail them from far behind, Harry gets to see first-hand what a perfect getaway Louis’s lavish ship is. Besides being a general paradise in the sun with its expansive deck, built in Jacuzzi, bar, and salon, and level under level of pristine living quarters inside, it’s literally equipped to be an escape if he ever needs it. He could just move into one of his upscale water homes and cruise off into the Atlantic, never to be seen again if he doesn’t wish to be found.

Harry has to admire his talent for knowing how to guard and protect himself well enough to exists the way he is without a worry of being caught; to even have a backup plan ready just in case something ever does happen to slip through the cracks. Harry hasn’t even begun to plan that far ahead yet. He fears the day he’s ever exposed and his family finds out who he is. Rather than preparing to run away in the event of getting caught, he just takes every necessary precaution to ensure the impossibility of that ever happening.

It takes a lot of brain power to be able to do this right, and Louis is clearly over qualified.

“So what brings you to Miami anyway?” Harry asks as they lie shirtless on the lounge chairs in the heat of the oceanic afternoon.

“Just time for a change of scenery.” Louis shrugs, talking to the cloudless sky. A pair of shiny black shades sits over his closed eyelids, and Harry can see the faint little M.I. carved into the side of it, like a reminder as to why he’s even here in the first place. He wonders what the initials stand for, and the poor man’s loved ones who are suffering without him now.

Louis, who managed not to let the guilt of killing an innocent consume his entire world. Louis who’s clearly content with the choices he’s made that led him to this point in life, where he’s now able to take a day off work and float around on a boat that easily costs more than Harry’s own house, just because he feels like it. Harry will admit that the outside of Louis’s life seems like something to be proud of, but knowing the means behind how he got this far makes his stomach churn. A reminder of his own humanity, buried somewhere deep underneath ages of psychopathic conditioning.

Louis’s kind doesn’t feel remorse. Or sadness. Probably not true happiness either. And Harry highly doubts he’ll ever know what it feels like to love something besides money and material possessions. He’s a textbook serial killer, just like the rest of Harry’s victims. The main thing that sets them apart is Harry’s own conscience.

“Understandable. This city is the perfect place to start over.” He finally says, emerging from his wandering mind. “Where did you come here from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He knows Louis’s last residence was in Arizona, under the surname Roberts. He just wants to see how honest Louis is willing to get about his past. Where do the lies end and the truths begin?

“I was just outside of Tucson with my partner for a couple of years.” Louis admits. “Nice city. Love the heat, but I love the sea even more. I’m feeling this place is a better fit for me already.”

“So what happened there, then?” Harry prods. “With the boyfriend, I mean? Partner.”

“Just time for us to go our separate ways, I suppose.” Louis confirms, turning to look at Harry through tinted lenses now. Harry can barely see his eyes through them, but sensing the subtle threat in his voice is no challenge at all. “Happens in every relationship eventually.”

“If I may respectfully disagree.” Harry says. “I believe two people can stay together forever, if they both truly work at it.”

Louis just blinks at him a few times behind the shades. “Guess it’s just not for me, then.”

“What about you?” He asks next, turning his head back up towards the sun. “How’d you end up here in the beautiful sunshine state?”

“Oh, I’ve practically grown up here.” Harry says. “Sophia’s got Cuban roots in town, from her grandparents who immigrated ages ago, and the family hasn’t left since. Liam was stationed on the military base for a few months in the 90’s, and ended up leaving the job to settle down almost as soon as he met her.”

“How romantic.” Louis coos. “Like a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

“I guess, yeah.” Harry says fondly. It is a sweet story, how Liam gave up everything for the woman who caught his eye and he instantly decided he wouldn’t want to live without. It’s how they describe finding him, too. That they both took one look at Harry and just knew he was sent into their lives for a higher reason.

He can’t believe Louis got him to open up about his family history so easily. He feels tricked somehow, even though all Louis had to do was ask. Once. Damn him for being so placid and charming. It’s a good thing he’s not going to survive much longer, so Harry doesn’t have to worry about him using any of this information for ill purposes.

“Not what I was looking for, though.” Louis says, snapping him back out of his head. “Doesn’t tell me much about you as a person.”

“Why would you want to know about me?” Harry asks, defensively.

“We could just sit here in silence, if you prefer.” Louis offers.

“No, it’s just…”

“Relax, Harold. Not like I’m gonna murder you or something.” Louis bravely teases, looking to him again as he pushes his sunglasses up to reveal his stunning seascape eyes. “It’s okay to like, chill out with me, you know. That’s what we came all the way out here for, right?”

Harry hesitates, weighing the now fierce sincerity splintering through his core. Louis is so good at this. It’s sort of a shame that he has to die, because Harry’s honestly a little bit in love already. He’s never been the type to care all that much about sex or romance beyond a pretense, but such practiced killing and professional acting packed into a gorgeous little body is apparently what Harry’s been looking for all along. At least his heart and his dick seem to think so.

Minus the fact that Louis is the wrong kind of killer. Still, Harry can admire the art of it. And admire he does.

“Right.” Harry agrees, a little less cautiously than before. “Okay then… what would you like to know about me?”

“I dunno.” Louis shrugs. “Something insightful. Most people don’t call their parents by their first names. You adopted or something?”

“Yeah.” Harry simply confirms. That’s the one subject he’s definitely not going to talk about. If Louis finds out that Harry’s mother is the infamous ‘Shelter Slicer’ who spent a few years of their childhood plastered all over the tabloids, he’ll put two and two together in absolutely no time.

“So what happened to your birth parents? Did you ever know them?” Louis presses.

“They died when I was young.” Harry lies. “It’s okay though, I don’t remember much about them, but it doesn’t bother me. Liam and Sophia are my parents now, and I’d never wish for anyone else.”

“Understandable.” Louis nods, rightfully dropping the subject. “How’d you get into the glass blowing career, then?”

“It’s something Liam picked up overseas, so when he needed a new source of income after settling here, the shop you saw was born.” Harry explains. “When they took me in, I remember being so amazed by it all. I wanted to be just like him.” Anything to attempt to squelch being just like his birth mother instead.

“Couldn’t have been an easy skill to pick up, but you seem to have mastered it now.” Louis comments.

“Not easy at all, but worth it by far.” Harry says. “I studied the mechanics of it every day on top of my schoolwork, and even now that I’ve been crafting for years, each new project still serves a little bit of practice.”

“Very true.” Louis agrees. “The same could be said for cooking too. Every new recipe is a learning experience, and there’s always room for improvement.”

“Well, now I’m gonna have to ask how that got started.” Harry switches the focus, squirming inwardly from how much personal stuff he’s divulged to someone he was supposed to be vetting for himself, not the other way around.

Louis shrugs. “My mum loved to cook. My sisters loved to cook. I love to cook.”

“So it runs in the family.” Harry concludes. Knowing Louis hasn’t stayed in touch with them over all this time, he asks anyway, “Do your sisters own food trucks now too, or have they made it to actual restaurants before you?”

“Hey, I resent that.” Louis pouts his bottom lip out. “I owned a restaurant once before. We did quite well in terms of business, but I sold a few years ago. Too time consuming, too much work.” He waves it off. “Plus I like to move around, so the truck is a snug fit.”

 _You have other things that eat up your time and need your full attention,_ Harry notices. Also an explanation for being able to live beyond his means. At this point, Harry might end up being more surprised if he actually finds any holes in Louis’s story rather than if he continues not to.

“I guess you also like to give out freebies, too.” Harry says. “You’ve got a bit of a reputation as a homeless hotspot, you know.”

By that he means that he and Niall did their share of asking around, and there’s a surprising number of people in the area who have nothing but glowing things to say about the truck owner that so graciously feeds the less fortunate wherever he goes. A brilliant front, really. If anyone were to ever point the finger at Louis for a crime, at least a dozen civilians from every state he’s lived in would probably be willing to provide a counter witness in a heartbeat.

“I like to help out. Clearly doesn’t make a dent in my wallet anyway.” Louis downplays it. “Friends certainly don’t seem to mind being fed a free meal every now and then, either.”

“Are you saying you consider me a friend?” Harry piques.

“I don’t typically invite people I’m not fond of to spend personal time with me.” Louis says, dancing around a direct admission.

So he’s chosen to go for the amicable angle. If Harry believes this fabricated friendship, Louis will be close enough to strike at any time he sees fit. However, if Harry goes along with it too, he’ll be the one with easy access to take Louis down quicker.

Another crucial difference between them (and something that gives Harry the upper hand in this case) is that Louis is obviously the slow and careful to plan type, while Harry is the strike-while-the-iron’s-hot kind who only allows a few days to find what he needs before going in. If Louis is expecting this to last beyond another night, he’s fatally mistaken.

Harry almost hopes Louis figures it out to stop him in time. He’s got a lot of potential to be a genius mastermind, if only his aggression could be aimed properly.

He stares over at Louis baking in the sun. Eyes lazily shut, body stretched out along the length of the pool chair, skin starting to bead with sweat all over. Mostly on his tummy; Harry notices the moisture sticking to his flat softness, carving a little trail downward from his belly button, only to be stopped by the hem of Louis’s tiny red swim trunks.

Harry gulps, suddenly feeling hotter than usual despite being used to the constant Florida heat. This kind comes from inside, burning and nipping at his guts because he’s never had to kill someone he’s attracted to before.

There have been good-looking victims, sure, but never as pretty as Louis. And they weren’t as alluring by a long shot. Louis knows he’s gorgeous and uses it to his advantage, and for Harry it goes even deeper than that. He should’ve guessed ‘killer’ would be his type after all this time, but the way Louis executes his work so surely and without a trace of incriminating evidence left behind is easily his best feature in Harry’s mind. His achingly elegant figure is just an added bonus. A frustrating one, at that. Harry knows he deserves better than some misguided murderer no different from the ones he’s spent his whole adult life trying to rid the world of.

“Enjoying the view?” Louis asks after a prolonged silence. He hasn’t even opened his eyes to catch Harry staring. He must really have a sixth sense for these kind of things.

“The water looks so refreshing.” Harry says dreamily, turning his attention to look over the horizon, where the sun makes the surface glisten against the skyline. Another beautiful day in paradise; perfect for ending another lecherous life. Harry’s just a little bummed that this time it has to be Louis.

“Right.” Louis snorts. “The water.”

He makes a sluggish move to sit up, but before he gets comfortable enough to speak again, Harry makes one quick, jerky motion towards the edge of the boat and throws himself overboard.

In the time between when he’s soaring through the air and when he hits the water, his head feels clear again. Of course Louis has to die, because he doesn’t get attached to people like this. He disregards the difference between right and wrong, has no qualms with ending an innocent life as long as there’s a prize for him in the end. Harry could never realistically go anywhere with him anyway. Louis is too dangerous and can’t be trusted, so he has to die, Harry tells himself just before the splash pulls him under.

He takes his time swimming back to the surface. After minutes submerged underneath the cool ocean waves he bursts back out into the air with a gasp and a flip of his heavy, slicked hair. Louis is looking down at him from over the railing, strangely reminiscent of just a few hours ago when he was calling to Harry from a balcony, like Rapunzel and her deadly prince.

“What the hell are you doing?” Louis sounds more confused than anything.

“Going for a swim.” Harry smiles up at him, squinting in the sunlight.

Louis pauses, considering. “Does the water feel as nice as it looks, then?”

“Just what I needed.” Harry beams. He’s kind of satisfied by the way Louis doesn’t seem to know what to do about that. He’s just looking on without a clue as to what could have brought the urge to jump off the side of a boat into Harry’s head. Finally, something Harry’s done has thrown him off his game, if only momentarily.

Harry lies back on the water, floating no more than ten feet away from the towering yacht that’s still his savior. He doesn’t see it coming when the loud splash erupts next to him, until the water ripples and droplets from the impact splatter against his skin. Louis pokes his head above the water and blinks over at Harry before spitting a mouthful on his chest.

“Gross, Louis!” Harry protests, wiggling away to revert back to treading water and wash the spit off his skin.

“Do you even realize the kind of disgusting things that happen in sea water? The grosser part is that I put some in my mouth at all.” Louis laughs.

“I don’t want to hear about what kind of gross things you’ve had in your mouth.” Harry gripes.

“Sure about that? I’ve got some steamy stories.” Louis winks.

“Mr. Stevens, is everything alright?” A deep voice yells from the deck above their heads. Harry looks up where a burly man with smooth brown skin and a freshly shaved head is calling to them.

“We’re great, Alberto! Thanks for checking.” Louis waves to him. “I’ll send for the lifeboat when we’re ready.”

“Alright, no problem.” Alberto salutes. “Enjoy your swim.”

“Alberto?” Harry asks when the guy disappears again. It never even crossed Harry’s mind until now, that someone had to be steering the ship this whole time.

“Only the best assistant anyone could ever ask for.” Louis coos. “He helps in the kitchen, with security, chauffeuring, home and boat maintenance, etcetera. Anything I could ever need, Alberto’s got it covered. Practically raised me on his own, and hasn’t stopped taking care of me since.”

“So what happened to your parents?” Harry wants to know.

“Oh, I lost contact with my family ages ago. They don’t exactly support my ‘lifestyle choices’, so,” Louis shrugs. “Who needs ‘em?”

“Right…” Harry says in reluctant agreement, not missing how very unfazed by it all Louis seems. “But they’re your family.”

“Blood is thicker than water, Harry.” Louis quotes.

Harry stares back at him for an intense moment, getting the distinct feeling that Louis knows exactly how much longer it takes a pool of blood to spread across the floor than it does for a puddle of water to do the same. Of course he doesn’t mean it literally, though. Or maybe he does.

“Guess I can’t argue with that.” Harry finally shrugs it off as well.

 

Wasting time with Louis is easier than Harry would like to admit. They don’t talk much more as they swim the day away, but it’s comfortable silence. Louis likes to splash and make waves in the water, and Harry doesn’t complain because the rogue drops feel so nice against his sticky skin while he floats peacefully in the afternoon sun.

He can’t help but think this would be the perfect opportunity to hold Louis underwater till he stops struggling. He could yell for Alberto’s help after and pretend like he tried to save Louis from drowning, but Alberto is just the problem. Harry’s not sure how much he knows about Louis’s secret agenda and if he’s in on it too, then it wouldn’t be that short of a jump to point the finger at Harry for his death. Attention is the last thing he needs from anyone, and Harry’s not the sort of killer who works on impulse in broad daylight anyway... Still, it would be convenient.

He should probably keep his guard up in case Louis’s thoughts are in the same place; he does have somebody to watch his back. Harry’s basically been a sitting duck to him all day, so he’s a bit confused why Louis hasn’t even tried to take advantage of it while the odds are completely in his favor. Typically, somebody getting ideas about them is enough reason for any monster to strike, but maybe Louis really does only go after rich bachelors and this is just some kind of twisted warning hangout.

Harry could repeatedly smash his own head against a brick wall and it would probably be more rewarding than all his speculation.

 

*

 

On the ride home, Louis chooses to sit with Harry in his car while Alberto tails close behind, and Niall’s not very far off either. Harry wonders if Louis noticed him today, or if when he caught them on their stakeout it really was Harry’s fault. Regardless, Louis doesn’t say anything about it, and seems a little relaxed to care anyways. He lies back and rests his feet on the dashboard while they drive with the windows down and the music on, breeze blowing through their hair as Louis shuts his eyes behind his trophy shades and just enjoys the ride.

Harry’s wondering what it is about himself that makes it so easy for Louis to stay so placid around him. Maybe he’s just that good at what he does, too.

“So, can I count on seeing you soon?” Louis asks, lingering in the open car door while Harry idles outside his giant mansion home.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get started on your order tomorrow. I promise this time.” Harry assures him.

“Good to know, but not what I meant.” Louis smiles. “I just had a nice time today, and I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime.”

“Oh.” Harry says. He’s never been all that good at genuine social interaction or picking up on romantic signals, but he’s not dumb. Louis is making his interest clear; Harry’s just unsure if it’s for morbid or sexual purposes anymore. Those lines seem to blur way too often in his head.

“Yikes. Never mind, I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Louis laughs at himself now. He is sort of beautiful when that happens. Harry really shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts about him, though.

“No!” He corrects himself a little too loudly. “It’s not that I don’t—you just caught me off guard.”

“Doesn’t seem to be so hard to do.” Louis notices. Harry’s honestly not like this all the time. Especially not around his victims; he’s normally extra alert and prepared for anything. He’s just a little rusty from being out of practice for a while. That’s it, that’s all it is.

“I’d like to see you again, too. Soon.” Harry says.

“Open ended. You’re a hard one to crack, aren’t you?” Louis teases, mouth still turned up into a cute little smirk. Goddammit. He’s in Harry’s head. He wishes he could just knock Louis out and get the job done right now, before he has a chance to sink his teeth in any deeper.

Alberto’s shiny black SUV pulls into the driveway and rolls up the length of it to the open garage, reminding him why that’s a bad idea.

“Trusting people isn’t really something that comes easily to me.” Harry admits.

“No need to rush, patience is a virtue.” Louis shrugs, closing the door now and leaning on his folded arms through the window. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

“Why don’t you come by the shop tomorrow night, after close?” Harry offers, taking the perfect opportunity to get him alone. “We can… um, go out for dinner? And maybe dancing. If you want.”

Louis couldn’t possibly be able to fake emotion like the blush that hops to the rounds of his cheeks when he lights up at that. Right?

“Yes, that sounds lovely.” He beams. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Harry.”

“Bye, Louis. I had a good time today, too.”

Louis still hasn’t wiped the smile off his face. He steps back to give the car some space, and Harry watches him wave through the rear-view mirror as he drives off.

 

*

 

“You two looked pretty damn cozy out there.” Niall’s disapproval is awfully clear in his tone when the two of them meet for drinks at the outdoor cafe around the block.

“That’s the idea. I was supposed to be relaxing with him.”

“Mhm.” Niall’s still side-eying him as he continues, “Well, while you were busy pretending to be undercover, I called around to some people he may have known in past states he’s been to.”

“And?” Harry presses, ready to divert the attention from his apparently obvious drooling over Louis.

“He had a boyfriend in Arizona.” Niall says. “And Chicago. And San Fran. I couldn’t find much on his lives in Boston or Atlanta, but if I had to make an educated guess…”

“He told me about the Arizona situation. Guess he wasn’t completely lying all day, then.” Harry nods.

“Thing is, none of them were rich and they’re all still alive.” Niall says. “Least from what I could find. Active credit cards and legal documents addressed to their homes within the past few months. I couldn’t actually speak with any of them though, in case they’re still in touch with him.”

“So if he’s not killing his boyfriends, then who is he killing?” Harry wonders out loud.

“I dunno, but Ben Winston is definitely long gone.” Niall says. “Wasn’t able to match those other initials you found to anyone yet, but I’ll keep digging.”

“No need. We have a date tomorrow night. I’ll ask him myself.” Harry says, smirk slowly splitting his lips. He can’t help it. He’s gonna get to indulge in his favorite pastime again. He can’t wait to feel the raw power of stopping someone’s heart flood through his veins so soon. His whole body is alivie with anticipation.

“A real date or a kill date?” Niall asks. Harry almost chokes on his own breath at the fact that Niall just said it like that, without an ounce of hesitation in his voice.

“Come on, Ni. I wouldn’t honestly date someone like him.” Harry says, feeling just the same inside as when he’s deceiving Louis.

“Just making sure your head is still in the right place.” Niall says. “You’re really gonna do it, then?”

“Let’s just say your work here is done. I think I have everything I need now.” Harry takes a sip of his sweet, colorful cocktail and sits back to relish in the oncoming victory.

 

*

 

“Another day, another dollar.” Liam sighs at the end of his shift the next day. Mostly everything’s been cleaned and put back in its place for tomorrow, so he plops himself down in the chair behind the front checkout desk as Harry counts the register.

“Don’t sound so glum. You used to love this place.” Harry says.

“You know I still do, it’s just been a rough few days. Where’ve you been lately?” He wonders.

“Just, uh… helping Niall with another project.” Harry says simply.

“Nothing dangerous, I hope.” Liam concerns.

“No, some minor behind-the-scenes investigation stuff.” Harry changes the subject, not wanting him to press too much on it, “Sorry I haven’t been around, I know you guys need me here.”

“It’s fine, we do alright. Just helps to have an extra pair of hands sometimes.” Liam shrugs. “You’re an adult now, though. You have your own life. It’s still hard for me to remember.”

“Dad, I’m in my twenties. I moved out like five years ago.” Harry says. Liam should be used to thinking of him as an independent adult by now.

“You’re also my only son. I’ll always see you as my little boy.” Liam gets up to playfully ruffle his hair, and Harry groans like any other adult who’s parents just can’t let go would.

He secretly loves it. Liam and Sophia are about the only steady sense of normalcy in his life, reminding him that there’s so much more to worry about in this world than just the urge to kill and all the heavy melancholy that comes with his double life. This is exactly what he’s fighting for. Good people to stay around, happy families to stay together, and average lives to continue on unharmed by some psycho with an unforgiving thirst for blood. If his birth mother hadn’t gotten sucked into that world herself, maybe his old family would still be thriving today.

“’M not little anymore.” Harry gripes. “And you and Soph will always be my parents. Even if I live on my own and miss a few days of work occasionally. I still love you.”

“You too, kid. Proud of you every day.” Liam says, pulling him in for a quick hug. “You sure you’re okay to finish locking up tonight?”

Of course he is. He can’t very well prepare his kill room with Liam still there.

“Go head home to mom. Everything’s taken care of here.” Harry dismisses him, scrawling down the final total of today’s profits on the register slip.

 

**

 

Louis prepares himself for the first real date he’s had in a while. He’s not sure what it is about Harry, but it may mostly be the fact that Louis has a good hunch he kills people too. It’s hard to explain until you learn how to spot it yourself, but something in a person’s eyes changes after their first kill. And then something in a person’s whole air changes as experience increases and people cut out a niche for themselves in the underground world of successful serial killers. Louis felt a little threatened by him at first, but after spending an entire day out at sea with the guy who didn’t even make the smallest attempt to take his life in such a private setting, he’s feeling more at ease.

He doesn’t know how to go about peeling away Harry’s layers to get the admission out so they can actually talk about it, but he’s also never had someone who could possibly understand him and the life he leads either, so he’s going to try his damndest. It’s not often that he comes across people like him, much less strapping Fabio types with long loopy hair and sparkly eyes and sculpted bodies.

They could be so beautiful and dangerous together. The ultimate power couple. Louis _has_ to have him. He’s honestly a bit giddy with it.

He takes a deep breath and looks himself over once more as he stands at the door outside Harry’s glass gallery. Tight black jeans, form fitting top, nails delicately manicured, fringe flipped to perfection. He hasn’t been nervous for a date since when he met Ben, but that was literally five lifetimes ago. Or five aliases, whatever. The Tomlinson he survived his childhood as has been dead for years anyway.

The lights are still on inside the building, but the sign on the door says they’re closed, so Louis knocks just to be polite.

“Louis,” Harry answers the door with a bright smile plastered on his face, dimples all deep and kissable, and Louis feels his heart melt into mush. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“As if I would miss this.” Louis says, smiling back because he just can’t help it. Not when Harry is so blindingly irresistible it’s driving him insane. And that’s from someone who would already be classified as having lost his mind by technical standards anyway.

He wonders if Harry is even aware of his own effortless seduction. He doesn’t seem to put any focus on using it to his advantage, like Louis himself has certainly learned how to do.

“Come in for a minute. I’m almost done closing up, and then we can head out.” Harry says, holding the door wider for him to step inside.

“How was your first day back after stalking me for the past few?” Louis teases. He knows Harry is onto him, which is a good thing in his head. It means Louis doesn’t have to hide, he gets to have a bit of fun making comments like that, and Harry won’t be too surprised when they can finally stop playing with each other and just come out about what they both are.

“Great.” Harry chuckles, closing the door behind them. “My parents missed me, so it’s always nice to spend some time with them and catch up.”

“You’re close to your family, then.” Louis assumes. The way Harry talks about his mom and dad is bizarre, to say the least. Not that Louis’s never felt anything genuine for another person before, but that was back when he didn’t know what it was like to be the reason behind a person’s last breath.

“Of course. They’ve given me so much I can’t even imagine a world without them.” Harry says, eyes growing slightly wider with child-like innocence that adds _please don’t take their lives, they’re so important to me_.

Which, Louis wasn’t planning on it anyway. That’s why it’s so vital for them to be able to discuss these things; Louis only kills cheating scumbags who don’t deserve the families they pretend to love. As long as Harry’s father stays faithful and honest towards his wife and son, Louis couldn’t summon the desire to end him if he tried.

He’s incredibly unprepared for when Harry comes almost out of nowhere with a syringe of sedative injected right into his neck. He feels his own jaw plop open in disbelief because the act was so sudden and sure. Harry had clearly been planning to wait for a moment when he truly would never see it coming, and he couldn’t have seized a more perfect opportunity. All Louis has time for is a moment of shocked, pleading eyes before his world fades to black.

  
The smirk on Harry’s deadly handsome face is the last thing he sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are so vital to me, hope you're excited for more :) x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Harry and Louis got to know each other a bit more, and Harry struggled with budding feelings towards a killer unlike himself. Wanting to end things before it got too out of hand, he made his move to bring Louis down.
> 
> *Warning for some brutal discussions and a bit of violence.

Louis wakes up sweaty and bare all over, chained down in a pitch black room. His feet are weighted together by the shackles locked around his ankles, hands held behind his back and duct taped around the wrists, with more tape covering his mouth. When his eyes begin to adjust he can see some semblance of a shadowy figure sitting in a corner, but he’s still too disoriented to make any sense of it until Harry stands up and steps forward, closing the space between them.

If Louis makes it out of this nightmare alive, he is going to kill him so fucking hard.

“Scream and I’ll kill you on the spot. Got it?” Harry asks, squatting to look Louis in the eyes from where he squirms against the cold cement floor.

Louis nods, frantic and desperate to do whatever it takes to survive. Harry reaches for his face to rip the tape quickly from his lips. Louis squints hard from the discomfort, but as requested, doesn’t make a sound.

“Good boy.” Harry praises, mouth twisting into an absolutely wretched smile.

“I knew I was right about you. You’re just like me.” Louis spits, all acid and flames.

“Oh, you are wrong about that though. I’m not like you at all. I only kill people who disregard the innocence of their victims.” Harry defends himself.

“So this is what, like a savior kill or something? You think you’re some kind of hero for this?” Louis asks, thick with disgust.

“That’s not how I see it, but whatever helps you understand.” Harry shrugs.

“Please. You’re no better than me.” Louis scoffs. “Killing bad people doesn’t make you a good person. It still makes you _a murderer_.”

“You’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” Harry growls, grabbing Louis’s face between one of his giant hands, squishing his cheeks together like a parent getting far too rough in a lecture towards their child. It doesn’t help that Louis is completely naked either; vulnerable and exposed in more ways than one.

If Louis were a less level-headed person, he’d spit right in Harry’s stupid sparkly eyes. If he stands any chance of talking his way out of this, though, that’s far from the best way to do it. Instead he sits on his anger, letting it fester and fuel him even more. Revenge will taste so much sweeter.

“Seems like you know exactly what you’re doing, too.” Louis accuses, jerking his head away from the rough grasp. “You can justify it any way you want, but you clearly enjoy the kill just as much as I do. Maybe more.”

“I enjoy knowing I’ve stopped someone from bringing a lot more pain to undeserving people than I ever will.” Harry says, solid in his refusal to admit it.

“So the theatrics are just part of the job then, huh?” Louis asks. “There’s no quicker way to just get it over with, if it’s such a chore to you?”

“I didn’t say that at all.”

“Exactly.” Louis says. “Because you like it… It’s okay to say so, you know. I understand. Nothing compares to the feeling of taking another life. I know.”

“I can’t help the way I am. You should know that too.” Harry keeps it up. “I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

“Save it for the judge, you’re not on trial yet.”

“Shut up, Louis! This isn’t your kill, it’s mine! You don’t get to do the talking here.” Harry snaps, unfolding from his crouch to get up and fade into the shadows again.

“Why’d you pull the tape off my mouth, then?”

“Ritual.” Harry says simply, and Louis gets that. He always cooked his kills one last meal before he finished them off for good. “I like to pick my victim’s brains first. And I might know for certain that you’re a killer, but I’ve still got no idea how you actually did it.”

“If I tell you, will you let me out of these shackles?” Louis asks, rattling the chains on his constricted legs for emphasis.

Harry just laughs. A deep, booming thing that fills the room as he emerges again with a chair. He sets it down in front of Louis, leaving a couple feet of space between them, plopping himself down for a chat.

Louis never actually expected that to work, but the longer he keeps Harry talking, the longer he gets to stay alive. The more time he has to come up with a plan that could get him out.

“If I set you free, you’ll never tell me.” Harry says. “But if you know that you’ve only got a few minutes left to live, you won’t be able to resist... I know your type. You’re addicted to the rush. A narcissist. In the end, what’s it all worth if nobody knows how great you are? How you’ve managed to outsmart everyone around you for years?”

Louis just stares daggers, seething inside, hating how right he is. Louis is going to die soon, and with him, his whole secret life. There’s no one here to come to his rescue, and Harry is obviously a pro at what he does. Louis is certain he’s going to disappear and all his work will be for naught.

“Alberto knows.” He fights back with whatever he’s got. “He knows where I am tonight, too. When I don’t come back, he’ll come looking for me. Then what?”

“Then maybe I kill him, too.” Harry says.

“He’s not like us, though. Doesn’t that contradict your higher morals?” Louis challenges.

“Helping somebody cover their tracks is arguably just as bad.” Harry rationalizes.

“What about your friend, then? The one you were watching me with?”

“Niall is a good guy. He only helps me find what I need to be sure my target deserves it.”

“God, do you even hear yourself right now?” Louis scrunches his face up, appalled. “You’ve actually managed to convince yourself that there’s some sort of right and wrong way to kill people. You may think you’re better than… ‘my kind’, but here in reality it’s all the same, Harry. A life is a life.”

“Some people don’t deserve to live, Louis.” Harry argues. “Even a monster like you should be able to agree. There are those who kill because they want to, and some of us just have no other choice.”

“Why don’t you just stop?” Louis asks. “You keep insisting that you have to do this, but it’s not as if somebody is forcing your hand here. You could just… not.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help it.” Harry sighs, long and drawn out. He leans back in his seat, pensive now.

“It’s in me. That... need that eats away inside until it find somewhere to let loose. The depth that makes you lash out and get yourself into worse trouble if you can’t manage to control it… It’s in me, too. I might be able to contain it for a time, but I can’t… make it go away. No matter how I try, it just. Won’t fucking leave me alone.”

Louis gulps, knowing all too well exactly what he’s talking about now.

“So I guess I do have a choice. I could let go of my rules and be like every other villain, killing for selfish reasons. Money, greed… sick satisfaction.” Harry says, “Or I could use it to make some sort of difference in the world, however hostile it may be. I’d rather do the best I can.”

“Your parents would be so proud.” Louis mocks.

“Shut up! You know nothing about where I come from!” Harry rages again, kicking him hard in the stomach, knocking all the breath out of him as he curls inward on himself in pain.

 

He wishes he could keep consoling himself with the idea of possible escape, but with every passing moment it becomes cemented into facts that it’s not a likely outcome here. Not with Harry watching him so closely, having weapons stashed probably within close reach, knowing the exact layout of their surroundings; whereas, if Louis did manage the miracle of freeing himself from his bindings, he’d just be blindly running in the dark from someone with a huge advantage.

He is going to die tonight; a fate he wasn’t prepared to deal with anytime soon. Realistically, he probably should’ve expected this could happen at any moment, but maybe he is a narcissist to some degree. He’s just been living under the blind assumption that he was too good to ever be caught, much less fooled into a position such as this. He should’ve known better than to get too comfortable.

He feels something draining slowly from inside him. A hollowness carving out in his chest, for all the things he’ll be missing out on in the life he worked so hard to build for himself all these years.

Fiercely protective and loving Alberto, who’s likely to be Harry’s next victim because of him. All his beautiful homes in all his beautiful cities, and the mountainous fortune he’s compiled to make up for the financial security he never got growing up as the eldest child of seven in a struggling family. The trip he was planning to Spain this summer, and the brand new private jet he’d have taken to get there. His kitchen; oh, how he’s going to miss the simple pleasure of chopping vegetables, sizzling meats, the sweetness of fresh pastries baking in the oven.

And fucking Ben, of all people, the one that smashed the heart he never deserved to hold in the first place, is the last thing to flash in Louis’s mind as the weight of his own demise washes over him.

 

“I’m never going to be found, am I?” He asks, surprising himself with the hush of his tone now.

“I wouldn’t still be doing this if I ever left a trace behind.” Harry says.

“How do you do it?” Louis wonders. “Get rid of the bodies, I mean. I never did figure that one out for myself.”

“If you didn’t even dispose of the biggest piece of evidence in any homicide case ever, how do you keep getting away with it?” Harry answers the question with one of his own. his jaw seems to have dropped slightly, shocked at the admission of what Louis had considered to be a flaw of incompetence.

He figures he’s got nothing left to lose, so why the hell not?

“Poison.” He finally reveals. “A different kind each time, so they’ll never be linked to each other. Impossible to trace back to me as well, because I made absolutely sure there was nothing to find. Sterilized the entire room, wiped all fingerprints, and made sure to only go after married men, so they were careful in keeping their affairs hidden. Nobody ever saw us together, therefore, no reason to suspect me in any way.”

“Brilliant.” Harry seems genuine in his awe.

“Thanks.” Louis accepts the praise, taking it as encouragement to further spill his guts for the first and last time. “My own husband, I smothered with a pillow in the middle of the night… and when the suspicions started rising, I changed my name and moved to the states. Thus began my now longstanding career in the booming serial killing industry we know today.”

“Why did he get a different treatment than the others?” Harry’s curious mind inquires. He’s rather cute in his childish thirst for every little detail. Such a shame that the two of them couldn’t have worked out their differences enough to live in perfect, sinister harmony together forever.

“It was my first kill. A crime of passion.” Louis admits. “I didn’t know what I was doing, only that I wanted him dead as quickly as possible. I did what I could with what I had.”

“What did he do to piss you off that much?” Harry keeps digging.

Louis swallows the impossible lump he hadn’t even noticed forming in his throat. The memory is fresher in his mind than he’d like to have thought, after so much time has passed since the night his realest version of life fell apart.

“I found out he was sleeping with other men behind my back.” He says. “Who can even count how many? The piece of shit had been sneaking around since we got together… five years, two of them after vows were taken… and not a single minute of it meant a damn thing to him.”

He feels a stir of something like raw emotion for the first time since God knows when. He loved Ben. He loved him so, so much that he hasn’t been able to feel much of anything else since. Like something inside him literally died when that lying, manipulative scum sack gasped his final breath.

“So he deserved it.” Harry concludes a moment later, still pensive in his tone.

“They all did. The rest were just like him.” Louis seeths, going off on a mini rant. “Lying to their families, hiding their dirty little secrets from everybody they pretended to care about, meeting me in hotels and secret rooms for a quick fuck whenever they could sneak away from their front lives. I stayed with each one for years, and none of them showed an ounce of remorse. Hell, half of them were ready to dump it all into a ditch and reshape their worlds around me. Not the slightest idea what it meant to care about anybody but themselves.”

“As if you showed any kind of humanity by inserting your way into their lives.” Harry says.

“Oh, insertion was my favorite part of the deal though.” Louis snorts. He never did waste his energy on somebody who wasn’t a damn good lay. If he was going to spend such a significant amount of time chasing them, at least he was smart enough to get something out of it for himself too. “Whether me or somebody less dangerous, they would’ve continued about their way regardless. They always do.”

“The money?” Harry presses on, skillfully ignoring Louis’s brilliant pun in favor of more useful information. “How’d you get your hands on it when their fortunes were tied to someone else?”

“After a while, I’d convince them to run away with me.” He says, cooing sweetly in a mocking version of his own self, “‘Leave your family, take me somewhere pretty, we can be free together, blah blah blah...’ They’d empty everything to meet me in a hotel the night before our flight, and then I’d move on with my winnings as soon as the deed was done.”

“Brilliant.” Harry credits again, clearly appreciative of the pure finesse and brainpower it takes to pull off a careful operation such as Louis’s. He can’t help but feel a little bit smug.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a while after that, and the growing silence starts to fill Louis to the brim with nerves. Now that he’s spilled his guts, Harry has no reason to keep him alive anymore.

 

“So, my body.” Louis says. “What’s gonna happen to me when I’m gone?”

A slow smile spreads across Harry’s face. He doesn’t answer out loud, but his head tilts back far enough for his eyes to fixate on the ceiling for a further prolonged moment of silence. So Louis looks up, too. The room is so heavy with darkness that he didn’t even recognize they never left the glass blowing studio this whole time. That is, until he sees the globes he remembers loving so much from the very first visit.

There must be at least fifty of them hanging down at various lengths, all arranged in eclectic little clusters around one another. There’s something different there as he looks at them now; an itchy sort of pull towards the display that says it’s exactly where he’s going to end up when this is all over.

“The kill is relatively simple and quick, so don’t worry, you won’t hurt for very long.” Harry starts his explanation. “I’m just going to jam my blowpipe through your chest and you’ll bleed out soon after.”

“Sounds messy.” Louis comments, ignoring the ridiculous amount of saliva forming in his mouth.

“Next, I’ll saw your limbs off to fit you in the incinerator. I’d like to get a bigger one someday to eliminate that little inconvenience, but it gets the job done for now.” Louis feels a chill run down his spine as Harry monologues on. Goosebumps rise all over his bare skin and yet, he’s still intrigued for more details. Somehow hearing about his own death turns out to be infinitely fascinating on a warped level that shouldn’t even be surprising anymore.

“Anyway, there’s always weird smells coming from this place because of the chemicals we mix with the glass, so that won’t raise any suspicions.” Harry says, motioning to what looks like the bars of a small jail cell window stretched over a hole on the floor. “I’ll clean up while you’re cooking, giving the place a generous wash-down to clear all the blood into the drain.”

“My ashes,” Louis breathes, piecing it together in his head.

“Tomorrow, I’ll dump them into my next batch, and I’ll start with one little globe to add to my collection.” Harry’s darkened smile comes back as he looks down at Louis with a hint of something, pride maybe, that Louis jumped the gun before he was done fully explaining.

“Then you’ll be sold off in the form of other art in the gallery. Maybe I’ll make some elaborate sculpture out of you, so only someone who’s willing to drop a fat stack of cash will get to take you home someday. That seems appropriate, given your choice of lifestyle.” He finishes like he’s still debating the idea.

“I love it.” Louis breathes; completely, a thousand percent honest. If it’s really his time go, he couldn’t think of a better way than being captured by another serial killer. One as beautiful as Harry, who makes the most amazing creations out of his victims. At least Louis will still get to be coveted and expensive in his afterlife, too.

“Do you?” Harry quirks his head to the side. That’s probably not something he’s used to hearing from a person chained up on the ground in his kill room.

“Yes, honestly, I think it’s… amazing. Perfect.” Louis can’t stop the grin from taking over his own face as he stares up and admires the others he’ll be joining soon. He kind of can’t wait for it now. Better sooner than later, and this has already dragged on long enough. He’s ready to just get it over with and move on to his well-deserved fate.

“You… do?” Harry asks again, utterly thrown off by the concept.

“Harry, I’d be honored to die at your hands.” Louis looks up at him now, begging with his eyes for Harry to please, just do it. Letting go of all his secrets ended up being something of a weight lifted off his shoulders. He doesn’t have to hide anymore, or keep wishing every day to feel whole again, or keep trying to fill that emptiness inside him with big purchases and double annual killings. He had a good run, but now he can finally be set free.

Harry holds his gaze for a long pause. Eventually, he stands up and lets out a big gust of air, running his fingers through his thick curls; suddenly stressed and strung out.

“Dammit.” He curses under his breath while pacing back and forth, getting louder each time until his voice booms into a shout, echoing throughout the room. “Dammit. Dammit. Dammit! Fucking hell! What the fuck! Goddammit!”

Louis doesn’t know what he’s said to send Harry on a rampage like that, and he’s not going to chance asking. Harry could be the type to only keep his deaths relatively painless under certain circumstance. He’s certainly capable of making it hurt if he wants to, so Louis keeps quiet for fear of angering him further.

Harry paces his way into the shadows again, and Louis’s breath catches in his throat. When he comes back it’s with a long, iron pole gripped firmly in both hands. Louis swallows again, preparing for the final few beats of his heart. Harry brings the tool closer, right up until he’s standing over Louis’s bound figure on the chilled ground. He squats down and holds the blunt, cone-shaped tip of it at Louis’s rapidly pumping chest, preparing to make the plunge. Slowly, his face leans in towards Louis’s, so close that the heat of his breath brings goosebumps back to Louis’s skin.

“Are you gonna try to kill me if I let you go?” Harry whispers into his ear, weapon still positioned right against his skin.

The question catches Louis completely off-guard. Is he insane? Has he had a fucking mental break all of a sudden? From Harry’s position of complete power, what on earth would prompt him to consider that as a good idea?

_Yes. Fuck yes, I am, you gorgeous, stupid bastard. I’m gonna fucking poison your entire family if I can get away with that too._

“If you actually let me out of this alive, I’ll repay you with a lifetime of gratitude.” Of course, Louis has enough sense in his skull to lie his way out of this, even exaggerating his sincerity for effect. Not to say that he won’t be genuinely thankful for such a blind mistake, but definitely not enough to snuff out the anger of being tricked into this unfortunate position in the first place. For enduring the mental torture of having to accept his own imminent end.

“I don’t believe you.” Harry pulls away to look him in the eyes again, but still he doesn’t put the weapon to its intended use.

“Okay. I don’t know how to convince you.” Louis admits, holding his breath now at the possibility that this could go either way, and it’s entirely out of his hands at this point. He just hopes with all his might that if there’s some higher power at work upstairs, it will have his back for the first time since the morning of his birth.

“Shh, I’m thinking.” Harry hushes, standing up again, keeping the tip of the tool pressed on Louis’s chest. His heart is pounding so hard inside him that he honestly thinks it might burst before Harry even gets the chance to deliver his fatal blow.

Louis waits quietly, hoping Harry decides to listen to whatever it is that’s telling him he may not have to do this.

Harry sighs once more; a long, tortured thing. Before Louis’s brain can even comprehend the weight of the absolute miracle taking place before his eyes, Harry falls down on his knees and flips Louis onto his other side for access to his duct taped hands. In one quick, practiced motion, he slices Louis free with some kind of pocket knife. The rush of relief that floods Louis’s veins in that instant is beyond anything he’s ever felt before.  
I’m alive, holy fucking shit, I’m fucking alive. He’s really letting me live. He thinks, enjoying the feeling of regular blood flow returning to his fingers. Realizing that his too-close call with death is fading fast and he’s actually going to get to walk away from this tonight.

“Don’t move.” Harry warns, daring him to try anything. Louis isn’t about to act out tonight though. Harry would definitely see it coming, and Louis needs the element of surprise back on his side if he’s really going to get him someday. Good thing he’s mastered the art of being patient with his kills.

Moments later, Harry’s turning the key in the hole of his shackles, and then Louis’s ankles can breathe again, too.

For a long time he just lies there without a single word or gratitude or other; afraid to make any sudden movements in case Harry changes his mind again.

He doesn’t.

 

**

 

Harry can’t believe he’s caved towards Louis so much in just a few short days that he’s actually willing to back off and spare his life… for now. Part of him immediately regrets the decision to cut him free. He should’ve just powered through that fleeting moment of doubt, given himself a good kick in the ass, and said just do it. Part of him considers it’s not too late; Louis is still lying naked and defenseless on the floor of a privately owned building where Harry’s killed dozens of others before. He could just pick up the blowpipe and pierce Louis’s heart now, when he wouldn’t see it coming, like the anesthetic injection Harry sprung on him mere hours ago.

He can actually feel the shift in his entire life, watching it disappear into an air of mystery like never before. He’s never placed this amount of trust in anybody besides himself throughout all his days. Maybe his parents, but they’ve never given him any reason to believe they’d turn against him someday. Louis could easily go back on his word to not enact his revenge. Probably will, honestly, any smart predator would, and Louis has proved he’s quite possibly the most intelligent Harry’s ever met. He might still end up having to trap Louis in this position again before he can strike, but Harry’s confident enough in his own ability to do so. Only if the measure is absolutely, completely needed for his own survival.

Maybe Louis does have a conscience, though. Maybe he’s not the cold hearted, merciless murderer that Harry conjured up the image of in his mind after all. Granted, his method of catching his victims is a little shaky, but he doubts Louis has lied to or hurt as many people as Harry has in his life. And he has a good reason for it, too.

Maybe someone being a rotten cheater doesn’t fit Harry’s personal criteria for killing, but then, he’s never been deceived on that level by someone he considered the love of his life before. Never even had a love of his life before, but that would almost certainly be enough to make him want to smother someone in their sleep, too. And he knows first-hand how hard it is to lock the monster back in its cage after it’s already been let out on its first hunt. Once the touch of blood is in its claws, there’s just no turning back. There isn’t.

So Louis did exactly what Harry had to when he realized what he’d become. He found a way to channel it towards the people he deems most deserving. Even a step further, Louis didn’t have anybody pointing him in the right direction like Harry did. He found that last shred of decency inside him and decided to follow it all on his own.

Then there’s the way he complimented Harry’s trophies. Like a blushing schoolgirl with her first crush, Harry’s heart went from zero to sixty just like that. Or more like sixty to one-twenty in this case, because it’s only natural that his heart was already racing from the thrill of the kill, so Louis noticing his proudest pieces of art sent him flying off the track.

“Can I have my clothes back now?” Louis asks after a long silence, his hushed and timid speaking voice back to normal now as he snaps Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry’s careful not to turn his back as he maneuvers around the room. Not because he’s afraid of a random strike, but more because he doesn’t believe Louis won’t try to run just yet. He grabs the pile of things Louis was wearing when he showed up for their date, and feels a pang of longing for what could’ve been as he tosses them over Louis’s exposed body.

“Thanks.” Louis dully appreciates, wondering out loud as he sits up to put his shirt on, “You didn’t like, rape me while I was out or something, did you?”

“Of course not. That’s not the kind of killer I am.” Harry nearly gasps, scandalized. It’s not the first time someone’s accused him of that and he’s sure it won’t be the last, but Harry’s made it clear by this point that he has at least enough humanity in him to be disgusted by even the idea of disrespecting someone in such an unforgivable way.

“Okay. My throat seems fine and my ass is pretty content, so I believe you.” Louis says crudely.

“I took your clothes off because blood stains are impossible to get out, and fabric always melts onto skin when it burns.” Harry explains. “So, naked bodies go in the fire, and the clothes get dropped off at Goodwill.”

“You really have thought of everything.” Louis notices.

“Each new victim is a learning experience.” Harry quotes him from the last time they talked about life passions on the yacht.

“Well, you seem to have a lot of practice.” Louis says, eyes darting upwards towards the spherical beauties again. “I meant what I said, you know… about the ashes in the globes. I’ve heard of a lot of different collections over the years, but yours is by far the most impressive.”

Harry tried not to look too much at his bare body while he undressed Louis’s limp form to tape him up earlier. He never does stare at his criminals directly. Even if their life is about to end, it still seems like a violation. Not to mention, killing is hardly a sexual thing for Harry in the first place.

But when Louis finally stands up so he can properly step into his bottom half, he so quickly pulls his briefs up over his privates in an attempt to hide the glaring hard-on poking out between his legs that it’s physically impossible to ignore.

“Is that…” Harry’s jaw hangs a little open in disbelief. “Are you hard right now?”

“Shut up. I can’t help it.” Louis grumbles, keeping his head held towards the floor as he steps into the legs of his jeans one by one.

“From this?” Harry gasps, judging him anyway. “Being tied down, roughed up, and having your life threatened? That’s what gets you going?”

Actually, it does sound kind of hot when he says it like that.

“I said I can’t help it!” Louis snaps, finally making fierce eye contact as he finishes fastening the buttons above his raging boner. “I don’t know, it’s the adrenaline, I guess. This isn’t exactly my ideal foreplay, but apparently it does the trick.”

Well, now Harry can’t help but wonder what his ideal foreplay does consist of.

This is exactly why he cursed himself and nearly pulled his out earlier. Did Louis’s divine beauty mange to convince the tiny brain in his dick to let him go? It certainly did cross his mind that maybe they could make this work someday, if Harry now feels his motives are justified. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have somebody he could come home and detail his latest kill to, rather than tiptoeing around and being shady like he’d have to with any normal person he ever tried to have a relationship with. Maybe someone who’s more like him than he thought is exactly what he needs to ever find true romantic love in his life. So maybe, just maybe, the universe wasn’t sending Louis to him for a kill at all.

“Sorry.” Harry apologizes. It starts out as being intended for the snarky comments about his uncontrollable wood, but then it feels too heavy on his tongue to cover just that. “For, um. Trying to kill you. I’m sorry. I just…”

“Can’t help it.” Louis finishes, staring back at him with understanding in his eyes.

“Yeah, you know.” Harry says. “I’m just sorry for choosing you this time. I guess I was wrong about you after all. Maybe we are more alike than I thought… so I’m sorry for putting you through this tonight.”

“It’s not okay, but I guess I forgive you.” Louis shrugs, noncommittal. “I’m just grateful you changed your mind before it was too late.”

“Me too.” Harry agrees.

He’s really unsure of what his next move is, though. None of his targets have ever gotten out before, much less been let out by Harry himself.

“So…” Louis starts, clearly also at a loss for words in this surreal situation. “I can really just go home now? You’re not gonna follow me or chain me up again?”

“No.” Harry says. “I mean yes, you can go home. I’m not going to follow you. You’re free.”

“How do you know I won’t run straight to the police after this?” He asks, but Harry’s not worried about that in the slightest. Killers don’t trust cops that way, they just don’t. They’re typically more capable of handling their own problems anyway, so there’s no need to risk law enforcement sniffing around in their criminal lives.

“Because I know too much about you.” Harry threatens. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me. So just keep that in mind.”

“Good point. I wouldn’t have done it anyway.” Louis shrugs. “But, since you gave me permission… No offense, but I’d really just like to get out of here now.”

“You thought you’d never get to again. I get it.” Harry dismisses. “Go enjoy your freedom.”

“Thank you.” Louis nods stiffly, heading for the studio door now.

“Louis,” Harry calls before he makes his exit. Louis turns with his hand on the knob, looking absolutely exhausted all over.

“Um… will I see you again soon?”

Louis blinks, obviously unprepared for that. He doesn’t seem entirely put off by the idea though. Maybe Harry’s walking himself right into a lethal trap. He’s not sure he can muster the urge to cure at this point. He genuinely just feels like his life could be brightened a little by Louis’s continued presence in it.

“Sure.” He says, contradicting eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “Maybe we can try this date thing the right way next time.”

Open ended, Harry notices, but thinks he better not push his limits. Louis’s been through enough for one night. Harry’s grateful that he even got a yes after how he treated him. Plus, he’s guaranteed at least one more positive interaction when Louis has to come pick up his order of glass creations later this week, so maybe he’ll be more receptive after a few days for them to both cool down.

“Okay.” Harry agrees, smiling only slightly as he waves Louis off one last time for the night. “Have a nice rest of your night, then.”

“You too, Harold. Thanks again for not murdering me.”

Then he’s gone out the door. Harry feels so strange inside; nervous, excited, somber, drained, and hopeful, he attempts to put a name to the mix of emotions surging though him. He hardly knows how to handle it all right now, so thank god he doesn’t have a giant mess to busy himself with before he can fall into his own bed tonight. He just puts his tools back in place, hides the shackles in that random pile of junk they’ve somehow accumulated over so many years of business, and finally locks up the shop for that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment your thoughts, I love hearing from you all!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Harry had Louis chained down & taped up in his kill room, ready to end it all. They learned about each other's methods, and Louis managed to charm his way out of it so much that harry went from trying to avoid his feelings to suddenly really wanting to date him for real.

Niall doesn’t usually check in after Harry decides to finish off a target, but this case must be his one exception because he calls early the next day to fish for details.

“I’ll give you one guess who I just saw.” He never answers the phone with a typical greeting.

“I don’t know, who?” Harry chooses to play dumb.

“I stopped by his house this morning to make sure you went through with it and caught him leaving for work. I knew you wouldn’t do it!” He’s frustrated, to say the least. “You’re into him, aren’t you?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Harry denies. “He’s not the person we thought he was, Niall. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“What about all those people he killed? Did they deserve it?” Niall pressures.

“In a way.” Harry says. “They weren’t nice people. He chose them on purpose.”

“How d’ya know he wasn’t lying?” Niall asks. “A few days ago you yelled at me when I compared you to him. Now you’re both the same?”

“You don’t get it, Niall. You don’t know what it’s like…”

“To be a murderer?” Niall raises his voice now, something Harry almost never witnesses in relation to rage, anyway. Maybe laughter. Fear. Never anger. “You’re right, I don’t. I thought you understood that it’s not okay to just kill whoever the fuck you want. I thought you wanted to see the evil ones gone as much as I do.”

“I don’t know what to say, Ni. Unless you want me to detail the entire night to you.” Harry says, sensing Niall still isn’t ready for something like that.

“I don’t see how that would change a thing.” Niall argues. “The problem here is you let him go. He’s just going to do it again, get away with it again, and it’ll be your fucking fault for letting him walk free.”

“I’m sorry, Niall.” Harry lets him vent however he needs to. The last thing he’d ever want to do is make Niall feel like he has to support every fucked up decision Harry’s ever made while leading a life like his. That is a lot to put on a functional human being’s plate. “I had him… I just couldn’t go through with it. I’m sorry.”

“What-the-fuck-ever, Harry.” He grumbles. “Just… back off for a while, kay? Consider me on an extended vacation. I need some serious time away from all this.”

Harry can hear the hesitation in his voice. He needs time away from Harry, is what he means. A good person like Niall is struggling to handle the fact that he’s willingly helped a known killer stay loose in the streets of his home space, especially when they were so close to getting him. Harry’s the one who messed it all up, so he’s more than able to give his dearest friend all the time he needs, even if it means losing Niall for good. He won’t force anybody to put up with his fucked up lifestyle.

“Okay, whatever you need.” Harry sighs. Knowing something is the right thing to do never makes it any easier. “Just… um… you’re not gonna do anything rash, right? He knows things, he’s seen things about me…”

“For fuck’s sake, ya selfish bastard. I wouldn’t do that to ya.” Niall says. Part of him knew he wouldn’t anyway, but he’d have regretted not checking to make sure. “I just gotta get away for a minute.”

The line clicks dead after that, a blatantly clear indication of how affected Niall is. Harry wonders how his parents would even look at him after something like this. Niall’s been trained, has plenty of experience dealing with psychos and gruesome murders, and even he can’t always stomach the reality of Harry’s world. Harry’s sweet, beautiful, loving mother would be an absolute wreck if she ever found out about him. Liam would probably never acknowledge Harry as ‘his only son’ ever again.

Harry shakes the thought away. He’ll do his best to make sure that never happens anyway.

 

*

 

After working tirelessly for a number of days in a row, Harry finally has a complete set of spirals, vases, and planters to fill the custom order. It may not be the most professional notification, but rather than calling Louis to let him know it’s all set, he shoots him a text instead. If the radio silence between them is any sort of indication he can bet that Louis is still not very happy with him, so he decides it’s best to avoid unnecessary conversation for now.

The next day, he’s in the studio with Liam when he overhears Sophia talking to a voice that already sounds too familiar on his ears.

“Break time?” Harry asks, eager to see Louis in the flesh again. Just to gauge his aura, figure out how well he’s taking the near-death experience after having some time to sit on it. Not because Harry missed him or anything.  
They’ve been sweating and working the glass all morning, so Liam agrees without hesitation and they pause the piece they’re in the middle of shaping to grace the selling floor for a bit.

It’s only been a week or so since their last encounter, but he’s looking even more bright and beautiful than memory serves. He’s all smiles and fluttery eyes when they notice each other, and Harry’s heart feels fuzzy at that. What a relief to see that he seems to be dealing well.

“Harold, so lovely to see you again.” He says, holding his arms open to pull Harry in for a hug like they’re some kind of old friends who’ve been apart for too long. He smells like cookies and Christmastime.

“Louis was just telling me about your date the other night,” Sophia gives Harry a sly look. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing somebody.”

He couldn’t possibly have told her about the actual events of that night, but Harry can sense a hidden something in Louis’s eyes at the mention of it. Not a threat, exactly. More like a subtle reminder that he hasn’t forgotten.

“I mean, it’s kind of new…” Harry says, diving deep into clear ocean eyes for any kind of clue as to where this is headed.

“I just mentioned to your mother that I had a nice time.” Louis waves it off easily, but Harry doubts he actually had a nice time being chained and taped up on the studio ground, so he must be putting on a show.

That’s when Harry notices the containers stacked on the checkout desk.

“What’s this?” Liam asks, lifting a lid to take a peek at the food stuffed inside.

“Oh, this one is so sweet, he brought all of us some lunch as an extra thanks for our time.” Sophia coos.

“It’s honey lemon chicken with angel hair pasta in a garlic wine sauce, with a strawberry avocado salad on the side.” Louis smiles innocently, as if Harry would actually allow them to eat something made by an admitted serial poisoner.

“Smells delicious, I’m starving.” Liam says, reaching in for a piece of chicken to taste right away.

“No!” Harry instinctively shouts, reaching to smack the thing out of his fingers before it can even touch his lips. The bite bounces to the floor, and three pairs of eyes stare widened at him like he’s lost his head. Nevermind that Louis knows perfectly well why he couldn’t have let that happen. He is expert at this, Harry reminds himself now.

“I just mean, um… wait… did you check for onions? Your allergies.” Harry says.

“Well I wouldn’t be eating something if I knew it was going to kill me.” Liam rolls his eyes, ironically enough. “That was very rude, Harry.”

“I’m sorry, I was just worried.” Harry says, taking it upon himself to grab the food and move it somewhere else. “I’ll go set this aside for later. We still have a sculpture to finish, so maybe lunch can wait.”

“Honestly, Harold, it’s not like I would poison you or something!” Louis jokes, and Liam and Sophia both laugh, completely unknowing. Harry doesn’t think it’s funny in the slightest. He takes back everything he’s ever thought about how alluring Louis happens to be. Clearly, it’s all a giant trap; that’s exactly how he wants people to see him.

“Oh, he always acts strange when he’s nervous. He must really like you.” Sophia winks. Harry groans inwardly. He loves her to death, but she is a textbook embarrassing mother with the way she’s always trying to wedge herself into Harry’s life as much as possible. He wouldn’t be surprised if the childhood pictures start coming out soon; she took so many in that first year they were brought together, never mind that he was an awkward gangly middle school kid rather than a newborn baby like in conventional family’s photo albums. She still can’t wait to show them off every chance she gets.

“Well, I really like him, too.” Louis admits with a cheeky smile. “Anyway, I won’t keep you busy. I’ve got my driver waiting outside in the car, so if you need help carrying anything we’ve got you covered... Other than that, thank you again, and I guess we’ll see each other soon, Harry?”

Very soon. Harry is headed straight to Louis’s house after his shift is over.

In the meantime, he fakes tripping over something in the back room, so the food in his hands goes flying all over the floor. That’s another twenty minutes of cleaning before they can get back to work, for which he catches plenty of flack about his clumsiness from both parents, but at least they’re not convulsing on the floor in a pile of their own vomit or God knows what else.

 

*

 

The only other time he’s been to Louis house before is when he broke in, and Alberto must have been out that day because it was too easy. This time, his giant security guard is the one who answers the door when Harry rings the bell. To say he doesn’t look happy to see him would be massively understating it.

“Ah, Harry.” He says stiffly. “If you’re here to make another attempt on Louis’s life, your planning is incredibly bold.”

“I wasn’t—” Harry stutters, because Alberto really doesn’t seem like a menacing person; he looks more like a giant cuddly teddy bear to be honest, but he’s clearly in grizzly mode now. “I actually wanted to talk about his attempt on my life today.”

“Hm. He usually tells me about the premeditated ones.” Alberto says.

“There’s more that weren’t planned?” Harry piques.

He should’ve known Louis wasn’t being entirely truthful the other night. He hasn’t been honest since they met. He is a selfish, gold-digging murderer, after all. Niall is probably right about this not being a good idea. Hell, Harry already knows that it isn’t. He just keeps letting himself get distracted with the idea of… romance, or whatever. But how could he expect to maybe someday have a relationship with somebody he can’t even trust?

“Just people who got in the way, or tried to kill him first.” Alberto defends his cub.

 _Necessity kills_ , Harry’s naturally empathetic brain excuses without his permission. He would do the same if it ever came down to it. If someone ever posed enough of a threat to his life or exposing who he is, he’d have to. It’s him or them, and as much as he morally knows he should be the one to die rather than a possibly innocent person, it’s the only exception to his rule.

“Why do you help him?” Harry blurts out loud.

“Why do I…” Alberto is confused by the question for only a moment. “I care about him. He’s been through a lot… maybe doesn’t have the best way of dealing with it, but he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a son. I’m the only one who’s always been there for him, so I’ll keep protecting him with my own life for as long as I’m around to do it.”

Harry nods as he processes this display of fierce loyalty. He’s not exactly sure that Alberto can be trusted either, but if someone who lives and works that closely with Louis still has such a high opinion of him, then he can’t be all bad, right? Even Harry’s most in-the-loop person has proven his lines can be drawn.

“I’d just like to speak with him about it, if you don’t mind.” Harry pushes anyway.

“He’s in the back with his plants.” Alberto opens the door wider, permitting Harry to step inside. He feels a pang of nerves when he realizes this is completely Louis’s territory now, so different from the yacht before the murder attempt. He has his guard up, but he’s not sure there’s anything he could really do to escape if it’s two against one, so even being there feels like risking it all.

Alberto stays behind him every step of the way, of course. When they reach the expansive porch, he falls back, but only enough to leave the two of them alone behind a sliding sheet of glass. Making it clear that they have the most minimal amount of privacy.

Louis is watering some tiny sprouts in the bright purple planters Harry crafted for him. The delicate rainbow curls tied to hooks on the ceiling are spinning in the breeze, and this time there’s lush green vines wrapped around the pillars and railings. Clusters of various potted flowers rest in every corner of the space, and Harry feels his defenses melt into a sort of undeserved serenity at the sight. It is absolutely magical, like something out of a fairytale.

“You made some new additions.” He says.

“Do you like it?” Louis asks, unstartled as he turns to face Harry from where he’s sitting in front of the little garden space he’s created for his herbs to grow. “You were right about the flowers being a nice touch. I remember your disappointment before.”

“So you wanted… to not disappoint me?” Harry asses. _Damn him damn him damn him damn him._

“Of course I only picked ones that I enjoy myself, but I was hoping they’d make you happy too.” He smiles, all cute and sweet and lovely. “You’ve got the most beautiful smile, Harry. Try as I might, I just can’t get over those dimples.”

More acting, Harry assumes. Unless Louis really does like him, too. He was the one to invite Harry out before things got too messy between them. It doesn’t make sense for him to be so affectionate all of a sudden; but then, none of this really makes sense. It’s just as ridiculous for Harry to be so responsive to his obvious flirting, when it seems there’s been more lies than truths between them so far.

“Don’t say things like that to me unless you mean it.” Harry says.

“I mean it. I bought you flowers, didn’t I?” Louis assures him. “All I need is a box of chocolates and this might be like a real second date.”

Harry cracks another hint of a smile.

“You also brought me food again.” Harry says, making the accusal clear in his tone.

“And you thought there was a secret ingredient in it.” Louis guesses.

“Is that how you did it?” Harry wonders. “Cooked them a bunch of harmless meals over time, so they never saw it coming when you decided enough is enough?”

“Bingo.” Louis admits, winking once. “Though, if I were trying to get you back for last time, I’m appalled that you think I’d be so obvious.”

“So there wasn’t anything in that food you brought?”

“I guess you didn’t try it then.” Louis pouts, skillfully avoiding a direct answer.

“Why would I? I can’t trust you as far as I can throw you.” Harry replies.

“What can I do to change that?” Louis asks. “Wild as it sounds at this point… I am serious about dating you, and all this flirting isn’t a joke. You definitely pissed me off with that little stunt, but I’ve decided I like you anyway, Harry.”

Harry gulps. He’s never had this before. The potential to be with somebody who sees him for exactly who he is and doesn’t shy away. He never realized how badly he wants it until Louis began to open up. Was forced to. Whatever.

Louis goes on, “I like that you’re a killer because you understand that part of me… Plus, I think you’re just about the most gorgeous human being I’ve ever seen. So I can’t have you doubting my every move and contemplating my death if this is ever going to be something, you know? Tell me what to do to gain your trust.”

“Can we just have an honest conversation for once?” Harry asks, after the blush wears off enough to make up his mind. “No more games, no more lying… and I promise not to think about killing you anymore. I just want to get know you… the real you. Louis _Tomlinson_.”

“Probably a good idea.” Louis agrees. “Would you like to have a seat? I could make us some dinner, or maybe something to drink if you like?”

Harry glares, conveying how much that is so not going to happen.

“I’m kidding.” Louis laughs at himself. “First thing to know about me is that everything’s a joke. Most people don’t usually find that so off-putting.”

“Most people also don’t know how you like to spend your free time, either.”

“Fair point.” Louis shrugs. “Is there anything specific you’re curious about? Consider me an open book tonight.”

After thinking more about the story Louis fed him in the kill room, something doesn’t quite add up.

“Niall told me you had some past boyfriends that you left alive.” Harry starts, “But if you were messing with married men at the time… doesn’t that make you a cheater, too?”

“I would never.” Louis says, strong and clear with a hint of offense at even the suggestion. “Did he specifically say ‘boyfriends’, or ‘partners’? Because I haven’t truly dated anyone since Ben, but I’ve had some ongoing help in personal matters before.”

“He said boyfriends, but I didn’t ask for the distinction. Maybe he got his words mixed up.” Harry considers.

“It happened often enough that sometimes we just went along with it.” Louis shrugs. “I can assure you though. Zayn, Aiden, and Lucas were all just partners of mine for a while. Actual partners, not boyfriend partners.”

“I’m deciding to believe you.” Harry says. _Please, please don’t make me regret it._ “None of them really had the means to support your expensive tastes, so that threw me off too.”

“For the record, I don’t date people for their money.” Louis clarifies. “I kill people for it. When I’m actually interested in someone, their bank account doesn’t concern me. I’m pretty much set for life at this point anyway.”

“So when you say they were helping you with personal matters…” Harry leaves the sentence unfinished, letting Louis fill in the blanks.

“It was a mutual thing. They wanted someone dead and I happen to be good at making that possible.” Louis says. “So, in exchange for a few months of their time helping at the restaurants, I aimed my talents at a target of their choosing.”

“With good reason?” Harry’s not usually about making excuses for killers, but maybe Harry can make more than one exception for this one. Only this one.

“Luke and Aiden had the usual cheating douchebags they wanted to get rid of. That was a breeze.” Louis explains. “Zayn’s ex was a new brand of evil for me… the level of abuse he suffered at the hands of this motherfucker… that guy probably deserved it most of all the people I ever killed.”

Louis pauses, lost in his memories. “Zayn literally broke down in tears when we were done. The only regret I have is not acting sooner for him.”

“You cared about him.” Harry can tell.

“He kind of grew on me, yeah.” He admits. “I still wonder if he’s doing alright these days… He didn’t want to stay in touch, which I understand. Being friends with someone like me isn’t an easy burden to bear.”

“Tell me about it.” Harry sighs, thinking of Niall now, wondering if this thing with Louis is really going to come between them for good. He never expected his only friend to even stick around for as long as he has, but Harry also never saw things coming to an end like this either.

“Things aren’t going so well with you and the blonde one?” Louis asks.

“He doesn’t like this. Whatever this is between us.” Harry says.

“You mean he doesn’t like me.” Louis translates.

“He doesn’t get it. He thinks you’re just like all the others.”

“Well, what makes you his exception then?” Louis asks.

“We have a mutual dedication to seeing that justice is served where it’s due.”

“Ah, yes. Your strange murder philosophy.” Louis nods.

“It’s not that strange…” Harry trails off, trying to explain in a way that doesn’t sound so warped to unaware ears. “I want to be a good person, but I’m just… not. Not at my core. So I try to be at least a little less terrible than I could, anyway. It’s hard not to want to strangle some people with my bare hands, though. So incredibly hard.”

“Pure curiosity, but why don’t you go that route, then? Seems like you’ve made the event much more complicated than it needs to be.” Louis wonders, no doubt recalling Harry’s detailed process.

“I like the blood.” He says. The admission falls off his tongue way too easily, like it’s just been waiting to hop out all these years. “It’s… pretty. The way it pools and oozes and splatters. The brightness, the thickness, the shades of red… I like to see the concrete proof of finality.”

“I can understand that.” Louis nods, gone all sparkly-eyed like a kid on his first trip to Disneyland. “I’ve sort of dreamed of getting more elaborate with my own kills, but I’m afraid of leaving a mess behind. Poison is so much easier, but it almost takes all the fun out of it.”

“I could… um, teach you?” Harry offers. “Different ways to kill. How to get rid of a body, and clean up a bloody crime scene. If you want.”

“I’d love that.” Louis beams. “Your process seems flawless and beautiful.”

“You have to promise to use it for good, though.” Harry says. “I don’t exactly agree with your choice of victims, but I understand wanting vengeance for the way you were treated. So as long as you stick to that and don’t hurt any innocent people, I’d be happy to share what I know.”

“You are extremely pleasant and merciful for someone who enjoys murder so much.” Louis says.

“Thank you. I’m glad I’ve managed to retain some of my natural personality through all the hostility.”

Sunset is finally fading out around them; the pinks, reds, and oranges of the sky blending into dark blues and blacks of the night. Surrounded by Louis and all his flowers and realness, Harry isn’t even close to being ready to leave yet.

“Enough about this. Let’s talk about something normal for once.” Louis changes the subject, pondering for only a moment before he chooses the first question on his mind. “Tell me what your favorite band is.”

“Um, I guess…” Harry has to think on it. It’s not that he doesn’t listen to music, he does, when he’s in the studio especially by himself, and on long car rides to clear his head. The stuff he listens to is hardly ever morbid enough to be completely relatable to his life, but that’s why he likes it. It gives him a safe place to get away from thinking about the darkness that follows him around.

“Or better yet, who do you think is my favorite artist, just based on what I look like?” Louis switches it up. “I’ll do you next, and then we can say if it’s right or not.”

“Um…” Harry deliberates more, calculating his appearance and everything he knows about Louis in his head.

“Come one, Harry, it’s not that hard.” Louis urges him on. “Just have fun with it. Blurt out whatever you’re thinking.”

“Blink 182.” Harry finally says, encouraged enough to let his mind run free for a moment. Maybe Louis is right, not everything has to be so analytical. Fun, Harry tries on the word for fit. What a foreign concept to him. “Or like, Panic at the Disco. Those types of bands.”

“You think I’m a pop punk kid.” Louis laughs, but doesn’t correct him. “Not my favorites, but both suitable nonetheless. I’m more of a The Fray and The Script kind of guy. Deeper rock... EDM dance music a bit, too.”

“I can get into that stuff too.” Harry smiles, “So I guess we do have more in common than just being serial killers.”

“Of course. We also both love Miami, and food, art, flowers, swimming…” Louis reminds him.

Harry didn’t expect that, for some reason. He’s only had one relationship in his whole life, and Jeff led an average life. All of their time spent together felt surreal and insignificant, because Harry could only show one side of himself; the ‘normal’ side that’s mostly a lot of lies and pretense. This feels more comfortable already. With Louis, he can literally switch from describing how the sight of blood excites him to what music he enjoys the most in a matter of seconds. There is nothing to hide because even the worst parts of him that would drive anyone in their right mind away, Louis likes.

“Now me.” Harry says, curious to how Louis sees him.

“Mumford and Sons.” Louis says right away.

“I look like a banjo playing hillbilly?” Harry almost shouts in disbelief.

Louis laughs, all cute and shiny like a burst of starlight through the cover of night. “Kind of, but also with a slight Jack Johnson vibe? Or maybe Two Door Cinema Club, Imagine Dragons… indie stuff. You look like a hipster, that’s what.”

“I mean, you pretty much nailed it.” He admits. “I’m just saying if I honestly look like a Mumford and Sons song, I might need to change it up a bit. I was going for a Mick Jagger, Ronnie Wood sort of thing. Old rocker vibe.”

“I can see that too.” Louis agrees, nodding. “Whatever it is though, I like your look.”

“Yours, too.” Harry smiles.

Louis’s cute fluffy hair that looks amazing whether fringed or quiffed or untouched. His tattoo-covered arms and delicately fierce blue eyes. His simple shorts with a t-shirt or tank, Vans or Oxfords on nicer days. Just looking at him you’d never guess he probably has enough money to cure world hunger and fund the next three American wars on his own, and the contrast of that is exactly what Harry likes. Louis may have money, but he isn’t flashy or rude about it. Maybe that’s part of his way to keep a low-profile too, but whatever the reason, it works for him.

Music and fashion stay prevalent topics for a while, but eventually they drift into things like how Louis loves his tea but Harry prefers coffee, and even though Louis loves it here he also misses his home in London and sometimes Harry misses where he grew up in Virginia Beach, when everything was still simple and easy. That’s what they both miss the most. Life before the first kill, because everything gets too messy and complicated after that, but there’s no escape anymore.

Sitting on Louis’s porch with the quiet rustle of leaves in the nighttime breeze, talking and laughing their time away together, it feels like this is one.

Eventually, it gets so late that Harry has to go home. Louis leads him back to the front door and Harry’s vaguely aware of Alberto’s watchful eyes on them, but it’s hardly bothersome anymore. He’s just looking out for somebody he loves. Harry can’t blame him for not trusting everything to be safe between the two of them just yet.

Louis holds the door open for him step out into the cool night air, alive and well and feeling probably better than ever. He might be able to float all the way back to his home if he really set his mind to it.

“I’m glad you came over today, Harry.” Louis smiles as he leans casually against the door frame.

“I am, too. Thanks for not murdering me.” He says, an odd parallel to the last time they got together privately this way. He wonders if that’s going to be a thing between them. Thanks for not murdering me, like the only appropriate goodbye between two practiced killers who continuously choose to show each other mercy.

They’re just silent for a long moment, staring back into blue-green with that subtle smile like it’s just too good to be true. When Louis takes a careful step towards him, Harry’s heart flutters and backflips inside him, knowing what’s coming as soon as Louis leans in towards his mouth.

It’s sweet and soft, just a light press of their lips against each other’s to taste this bliss and all the promise of what this future could hold. Blood and acceptance and romance and partnership. It’s better than all the best things Harry could ever imagine combined.

He’s totally unprepared for when, instead of ending the kiss by just pulling away, Louis instead shoots his arm forward to punch his fist hard into Harry’s dick.

He immediately doubles over on himself, groaning as he holds his crotch in pure agony.

“That’s for trying to kill me on our first date.” Louis explains, slyly watching on. “Now we’re even.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Harry breathes around the aching pain. “I deserved that. You’re right.”

“Glad you see it my way.” Louis smiles, delighting in the sound of Harry’s groaning discomfort. “I really did have a lovely time today though. Hope to see you soon?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” Harry nods through it, still holding himself as the damage slowly lessens by the second.

Honestly, fucked as it seems, a bold move like that only endears him to Louis even more. He stood up for himself without killing anybody, even though Harry rightfully deserved more than just a good junk punch. Louis must really like him to be satisfied with only that as his revenge.

“Goodnight, Harold.” Louis smiles one last time before shutting the door, leaving Harry standing on the step half-burning in pain, still mostly flying with joy. He couldn’t stop himself from falling for this man even if he wanted to try anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my very most favorite, but kudos and bookmarks appreciated too. i see y'all and i love y'all :*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Harry thought Louis tried to poison him, but it turns out he just has a funny way of showing he likes someone. It took Harry getting a literal punch in the nuts to realize he likes him back.
> 
> *Warning for some described killing here. Enjoy xx

He visits Louis in his home after work for the next few nights. Louis always offers him food or something to drink and Harry always declines, but Louis thinks it’s the funniest thing to keep asking.

“If you’re planning to kill me someday, can you just get it over with, please?” Harry blurts one day while he’s sitting on the island in Louis’s kitchen, watching Louis make himself and Alberto some dinner.

“Okay, here.” Louis jokes, picking a piece of chicken from the pan of stir-fry sizzling in front of him.

Harry honestly considers it for a moment. He’s had his eye on Louis since he started spreading the ingredients out on the counter, as he was chopping them and making Harry laugh as usual, and Harry hasn’t caught him doing anything shady since it’s all been in the skillet, either.

But he hesitates for too long, so Louis pops the bit of food into his own mouth and chews it thoroughly, as if trying to prove to Harry that it’s completely harmless. Then Harry backtracks. That’s exactly what a poisoner would try to do. Get someone to trust them enough to give in just once, is all it takes. Louis has had enough practice with this to be able to make it unnoticeable, so if Harry slips up that could be it for him. He’s not actually ready to die yet, he just hates the suspense of not knowing if it’s going to happen or not.

“How do you expect me to do it, then?” Louis asks, turning back to the stove after he swallows.

“I’m just saying if you’re still holding a secret grudge against me, I’d rather die now than have you break my heart first.” Harry says.

“Are you admitting I might have the power to do that someday?” Louis looks over his shoulder with a hint of a smile.

Harry doesn’t respond, and that’s enough of an answer for Louis. He hardly lets his guard down around normal people long enough to even learn their last names, yet here he is chasing after a dangerous killer like a fox and a rabbit. He still hasn’t figured out which animal is who yet.

“Because Harold, you’ve had that power over me since day one.” Louis continues, turning back to his food to avoid looking Harry in the eyes when he adds, “I think that’s why I was so pissed after that night in your kill room. I’ll admit… I did consider getting you back for a few days.”

He turns to gauge Harry’s reaction, the look in his eyes screaming you are so lucky I changed my mind. Harry stays stone-faced, trying to accept the fact that Louis did want him dead at some point. But only because he deserved it. Harry would be angry enough to retaliate on someone who tied him up and threatened his life that way, too. It didn’t even take that much for Harry to begin plotting Louis’s murder, so it’s okay, really.

Louis turns the fryer off to continue, “Then I realized I quite like having you around, and I might start to miss you if I ever acted on that impulse… So now here you are in my kitchen, constantly refusing to eat my food and accusing me of attempted murder, yet somehow I still have no regrets.”

“Happy to be here myself.” Harry’s willing to admit, staring back into blue as bright as the sky. And because he likes the ease of being able to switch off the murder talk at the drop of a hat, he changes the subject to lighter things by asking, “What’s your favorite thing to cook?”

“Hm,” Louis thinks on it for a brief moment. “Pasta from scratch. Or maybe pulled pork.”

“Why is that?” Harry wonders. The two things don’t seem to have any significant correlation.

“Pulled pork is just simple and delicious. Alberto taught me an old family recipe of his that is absolutely heavenly.” Louis always sounds like he’s salivating in his voice when he talks about food. Kind of like how Harry speaks in reverent ways of his own art. “For pasta, I just love the noodle-making process. It’s always fascinated me, all the crazy shapes and different ways to mold the dough. Sometimes I like to try abstract shapes just for the hell of it.”

“Bet I could have some fun with that, too.” Harry smiles.

“A rainbow noodle sculpture would make quite the interesting meal.” Louis chuckles lightly.

“Is there a different answer for your favorite meal to eat?” Harry asks next.

This time Louis is speechless for maybe the first time ever. He deliberates for a minute, staring back at Harry like he’s teetering on the edge of an honest answer. Of course that only makes Harry more curious, so he patiently waits until Louis finally crosses his arms and says something.

“My mother’s eggs benedict.” He says, tracing around the rocks of his black granite counter as a distraction. “I still remember the taste, but so far haven’t been able to perfect it the way she did. It’s never the same.”

Louis doesn’t talk about his biological family, ever. Alberto is the only one in his life now, and Harry can tell how much effort it took to even bring his mother up, so he’s not going to press it. Instead he says, “Not to brag, but I can make a mean eggs benedict.”

“You cook?” Louis raises his perfectly curved brows. “How silly of me to never consider that before.”

“Nothing like you, of course.” Harry’s modest about it, but in contrast it’s so easy for him to ramble on about the family he adores. “I’m used to having Sophia spoil me. She never lets me go home without a plate of something to keep in the fridge so I don’t bloat myself with fast food and junk. I don’t mind cooking, but after a long day it’s just easier to grab something quick. So thankfully, loves to take care of me.”

“My poor chef’s heart.” Louis dramatically clutches his chest for effect. “Here you have a man willing to feed you well every night, but I’ll never be able to compete with mum’s homemade meals.”

“Maybe someday.” Harry considers. He does remember Louis’s food being really, really good. It’s not as if resisting is easy with the spices invading his nose amidst the kitchen like this, but Harry’s not ready to test his luck that much yet.

Louis is gorgeous and alluring and deadly, like a Bengal tiger with its wild eyes and thick fur, or the Belladonna flowers he imported for his garden. Harry can’t stop watching him. Learning about him. Lingering on his doorstep at night for the goodbye kiss that always jolts Harry’s heart back to life before he falls into bed later on, or goes out to chase another kill first.

 

**

 

Harry is a peculiar one, and it doesn’t take long for Louis to find himself ensnared in his own trap.

It started out as just messing with Harry’s head. Truth be told, he intended on treating him just like any other victim; flirt till they fall into bed, fuck him for a year or so, make him really believe Louis was actually there for love. One day he’d slip something into a free meal for all of Harry’s precious little family and skip town to start over somewhere new before they could even sense the first notion of something going wrong in their systems.

There wouldn’t have been a monetary reward in it for him this time, but lately it’s become less about the money and more about the satisfaction of getting away with murder anyway. Louis’s been held at gunpoint before, but that wasn’t nearly as frightening as the way Harry had him tied up like some kind of helpless prisoner. He would’ve gotten so much satisfaction out of this one.

Would have. Until he unwillingly began to anticipate Harry’s nightly visits and actually looking forward to dropping by Harry’s shop during the day, too. He started noticing how Harry is too pretty to be real, like an old Michelangelo sculpture or Christian Renaissance painting brought to life. How much fun it is to make Harry blush by telling him so.

Like when they’re on the boat one day and Louis asks, “How does the water look today?” knowing that Harry’s really staring at his half-naked body, strategically stretched out right in Harry’s line of vision for full attention.

Harry simply replies, “Tempting.” Without any specification to whether he actually meant the water or not. He doesn’t jump overboard this time though, so Louis can only assume.

Have to only assume somebody’s feelings is not something Louis is used to, but it seems to happen a lot with Harry. He’s good at hiding behind his mask, certainly better than Louis is, and that’s an entirely new game for Louis. He’s grown accustomed to men being very obvious about wanting him. This new thing where Harry keeps him at a safe distance is a puzzle he can’t wait to solve.

 

*

 

“So, this thing with you and Harry.” Alberto brings it up over a plate of frijoles and mojitos one night. “Should I stop side-eying him every time he comes over now? Seems like it’s every day lately.”

“I like him.” Louis say, always free to be completely honest with his right-hand man. “I guess it’s up to you to assess now, because I haven’t felt threatened since the first time. That could be my rose-colored lenses getting in the way, though.”

“I don’t sense danger anymore, either.” Alberto confirms. “Think you guys are kinda cute together, actually.”

Louis’s lips pull themselves into a smile. He literally trusts Alberto with the most intimate details of his entire life, every single day, so if his approval has been earned then it must be something worth pursuing.

“When are you gonna find yourself a nice woman I can call the mother figure I never properly got too?” Louis teases to divert the attention from his own blossoming romance.

“You saying I’m not enough for you anymore?” Alberto wipes a fake tear from his eye.

“Oh, stop. Who would I even be without you?” Louis reaches out to place an assuring hand on his knee. He knows his sense of humor can get annoying at times, but he would truly be in prison or worse if not for Alberto having his back all these years.

He helped cover up Ben’s murder by staying in town for a few months after setting Louis up with a new life in Boston, telling the police time and time again that Louis had been kidnapped by whoever killed Ben and raging about why they weren’t trying to find whoever really did it.

When it was finally safe to join Louis in the states and found that Louis was planning to act again, he didn’t even ask questions. Without hesitation, he just did everything he could to protect him. That’s what he was paid for, right? Louis knew he’d made the right choice the first time Alberto had promised his undying loyalty, and he hasn’t gone back on that steel-tight word ever since.

He taught Louis how to be careful to never leave any trace of himself behind, and he’s got the direct line to all the fake ID’s and documentation that let him continue to live freely in the outside world. Louis could never truly thank Alberto for all he’s given to keep Louis safe in the life they’ve chosen to lead together.

“Who would I be without you?” Alberto counters in the most loving of ways.

He could be working security for some famous popstar right now, making a hell of a lot less money but without fear of the deep shit he’d be in if Louis were ever caught. Alberto is good, he could do good things with his life, and yet he chooses to spend it with the only loved one he has left in this world. He’s the closest thing to family Louis’s ever known, so with his approval… maybe Harry could fit right in them too.

“Speak of the devil.” Alberto says, rising from his seat at the sound of the doorbell. There’s only one person who ever visits Louis here.

Harry come bearing a gift tonight. A shiny black vase with subtle silver and gold stripes swirled throughout, and weird little white triangles like the ridges of a perfectly symmetrical mountain range twisted around the outside.

“This matches perfectly with my kitchen.” Louis notices right away. All the shiny black counters, chrome utensils, neutral appliances, sheer golden curtains to filter the constant sunlight beaming through the open windows.

“I know. I made it with you in mind.” Harry admits, beaming with pride in himself. “I remember you saying something about how my work wouldn’t fit in here, so I thought this would change your mind.”

“I love it, Harry, thank you.” Louis smiles back, abandoning his and Alberto’s finished meals to pick the vase up and peck him quickly on the cheek. They walk together through the living area into the kitchen, where Louis positions it right in the middle of the island.

“You’re making me-inspired pieces now.” He says, admiring the exquisite work of art. “One of the many perks of dating an artist?”

“Perks… if you want to call it that.” Harry shrugs it off, bashful. “Can’t really seem to get you off my mind these days, so I’ve gotta channel it somehow.”

“I can think of a few ways, of the top of my head.” The suggestion melts into Louis’s tone, turning Harry’s cheeks a bright shade of red. Louis lives that adorable reaction.

He knows Harry is far from the overtly sexual demon that Louis can be, so he quickly moves on before the deflection can come from elsewhere. “Did you have any specific vision of what I should put in it?”

“It’s yours to decorate how you please.” Harry says.

“Well, what’s your favorite flower?” Louis asks.

“I’ve always loved lilies.” Harry says, “I did think some of those white ones with the little black speckles would look nice with it.”

“White tiger lilies it is, then.” Louis decides, studying the vase a bit longer, picturing how they definitely would be the perfect complement to its funky casing. “Kinda reminds me of a dragon. Is that how you think of me?”

“I guess so.” Harry laughs. “Cool, legendary, dangerous. Sounds about right.”

“Interesting…” He considers that for a moment. It’s definitely a compliment, so he’ll gladly give a mythical comparison in return. “You just might be a unicorn then, if I may. Beautiful, elusive, and coveted by all.”

“Pretty weird pair, don’t you think?” Harry counters, but he’s smirking as he says it.

“Donkey and Dragon had six little mutant babies together, so it’s not impossible with the right commitment.” Louis shrugs.

“Did you just make a Shrek joke?” Harry bursts into laughter this time and Louis’s heart does a little flip and lands in his tummy. Being able to make Harry’s face light up that way feels like a reward of the highest caliber.

“Classics, those films. We’ll have to marathon them sometime soon.” Louis says, day dreaming of himself cuddled against Harry’s side on the couch, content for hours.

“We could, um…” Harry starts, hesitating like he always does when he’s about to say something big. “I have them, actually… if you want to come over. We could do that tonight.”

Louis has never been to Harry’s house before. Doesn’t even know where he lives, outside of the fact that it’s obviously somewhere in or at the very least, near Miami.

“That sounds lovely.” Louis agrees without a second thought.

 

*

 

He knew he was in trouble when he found himself wanting to learn real things about Harry, too. Like where did he come from, how did someone so sickeningly wonderful and kind hearted end up falling into the pit of morbid sickness that compels him to kill, and what is he thinking about when he stares off into space at nothing for so long anyway?

“Where are you right now?” He asks one night as they’re curled up on Harry’s tiny couch in front of the TV. Harry clearly hasn’t been paying attention to the story at all.

After a few more weeks, it becomes customary to have movie nights at Harry’s home once in a while. Something to switch up their hangouts on Louis’s turf, whether on his back porch or in the kitchen or on the boat. Louis can tell Harry enjoys the open space and upscale amenities, though he won’t admit it out loud. He doesn’t mind sharing, (of course not; anything to make Harry happy is already his before he can he ask) but being in his house feels so much more personal and intimate.

Everything is so small and quaint there, and he appreciates the coziness of Harry’s quiet little place out on some old dirt road in the middle of the banyans. Like their whole world is enclosed in the quiet little bubble of safety it offers.

“Two lifetimes ago.” Harry says simply. He never gives very much without being pushed, and even then most of the time there’s too many walls up for Louis to break or get around yet.

It kind of bothers him that he’s okay with waiting however long it takes for Harry to let him in. It’s not as if he’s given all of his past to Harry yet either, but Louis is used to being patient for a kill. What he’s not used to is being patient for other reasons like maybe he’s just not ready to talk about it yet and I should be supportive and give him the space he needs.

“Do you want to…” Harry starts, turning down to look Louis in the eyes through the dim lighting of the table-side lamp and the soft screen glow. “I mean, like… You don’t have to go home tonight, if you don’t want.”

“You’re asking if I want to spend the night with you?” Louis checks, powerless to stop his widening grin. He loves when Harry gets all shy and timid around him, no different from all the other men in the world who are useless underneath his own effortless charm.

“Not like, in that way.” Harry clears his throat. They haven’t done more than kissing and a little heavy touching, but Louis is hardly concerned by it at this point. Whatever is happening between them is worth more than all of his fortunes combined. He’ll wait however long it takes, no question.

“I just mean I don’t want you to leave yet, so you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Okay.” Louis agrees, lifting up to press his lips on Harry’s for the now familiar jolt of fireworks all through his veins. “I don’t want to leave, so we’ll just have to share your bed tonight.”

Harry pets his hair and pulls him closer, leans his head on top of Louis’s, and they don’t last much longer before slipping under the covers in Harry’s homey little room.

 

**

 

As Louis only gets better and better over time, Harry’s worries grow in proportion. Louis is too good to be true, he must be planning something, maybe that’s why he keeps trying to feed Harry all that food. He must be waiting for the moment Harry’s guard is down just long enough to accept without thinking, and then it’ll be all over. Sure, he always backs down after Harry says no once, but maybe it’s part of the plan. He never tries to force it too hard, but maybe he’s being too patient to be anything but suspicious.

It’s a constant back and forth in Harry’s head. He’s sure that he likes Louis, of course, but should he really trust him or not? Should he let him in or keep him at bay until things feel more secure? What if they never do? How badly does Harry want to be loved and to be in love? Enough to risk not only his own life, but the lives of everyone he cares for, too?

He’s always struggled to balance his dark side with his normal one, but at the end of the day he still feels too human to not need someone by his side. Especially now that he’s spent night after night with the comfort of a warm body snoozing next to him, it’s becoming an addiction. Would he be willing to live without, or would he sacrifice his own mental health and wellbeing for just one more hit?

He’s grown so used to the steady rise and fall of Louis’s chest he couldn’t imagine his life if he’d gone through with piercing a nasty hole through it all that time ago. Louis is so soft in the middle of the night, the way he snores just lightly enough to notice but not enough to wake Harry from his own sleep, and how he lets Harry be the little spoon even though he fits against Louis’s back much more easily.

Realistically, with how they both are, Harry doesn’t expect them to ever be a normal couple. The doubt might always be there between them, because how can you ever really trust someone who lies and hurts others for a living?

All he can say for sure is that he never feels closer to an average or maybe even happy existence than when Louis is squeezing his arms tighter around Harry’s waist in bed, pulling their bodies closer and raising hairs on the back of Harry’s neck with his gentle breaths.

 

*

 

“I have to go somewhere tonight.” Harry says when the credits of the original Psycho start rolling up the screen in front of them.

“Your secret husband must be wondering where you’ve been lately, huh?” Louis teases.

“Not funny.” Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m going to grab someone for a kill.”

He hasn’t done it since Louis started sleeping over, but there comes a first time for everything. He just wishes all their firsts didn’t have to be so twisted. The first time I almost killed you. The first time I (might) eat something that might be poisoned. The first night we have to spend apart because I need to go kill somebody.

“Oh.” Is all he has to say.

They’ve hardly been away from each other for more than a few hours at once lately, so he was probably hoping to be invited along, but that’s just not something Harry’s ready for yet. His kills are so personal; he lets a completely different side of himself loose when there’s a weapon in his hand.

Louis may have seen it from a compromising position, but Harry’s soft spot for him since day one kept him from unleashing the full force monster. His process is a bit more macabre than Louis’s simple poison and run strategy, so he’s afraid of what Louis will think watching it from the outside. If anything could scare him away at this point, that would surely be it.

“Do you want me to wait here for you to come home?” Louis offers, sensing the invitation isn’t coming. His heart skips three beats at the way he so casually referred to Harry’s place as home. “Or I could leave, if you’d rather be alone. That’s fine too, I understand.”

Honestly, what good has Harry done in his life to deserve someone so accommodating to his exceedingly bizarre needs? Is there even any possible way for Harry give this up if it did suddenly turn dangerous one day?

“Mi casa es su casa.” Harry smiles.

“Gracias, mi amor.” Louis grins back, sitting up to give Harry a quick kiss before he goes. “Good luck. Have fun… Be safe, please. I’ll be waiting for you to come home.”

 

*

 

Harry’s acting quickly tonight. He has a man that he can’t wait to get back to, but his natural urge is getting in the way. Once it’s settled for the near future, he’ll be able to focus more clearly on the things that really matter, like Louis and how far they’ve come in such a short time, and where their future is headed from here.

There was a local trial being broadcast for a few days about a guy called Sean Luna, who’s been the cause of seven fatal car accidents across the past few months. He managed to walk away from all of them with no more than a scratch here or there, but with a body count of up to ten and two more currently hospitalized, the jury was left to decide whether they were real accidents or not.

Unfortunately, the innocent tend to give the guilty the benefit of the doubt. Their minds work differently, by default they have a hard time believing anyone could be so cruel as to do something that awful to so many people. Especially if it endangered himself too, but Harry knows better. He could see it in that monster’s eyes every time he looked directly into one of the cameras pointed on him. When he walked free on the last day of his trial, Harry simply smiled to himself. Better than finishing his wretched life behind bars, Sean would be facing his own death soon. A win-win for society either way.

Finding him wasn’t hard with his face plastered on news outlets all over Florida, which is a grace from above considering Niall’s become something of a ghost to him these days. Harry only had to tail his target for one afternoon to figure out that he wastes too much of his days getting plastered at the bar down the road from his house. His lawyer used the alcohol as a defense in his trial, turning it around to get him off with only a massive DUI fine as opposed to “involuntary” manslaughter.

Harry waits outside the hole-in-the wall place until it closes at 2am. Sean stumbles out after a couple of other late night stragglers. He stops by the door to have a cigarette while the others get in their cars and drive off, leaving Harry as the only other one in the parking lot besides his target. He doesn’t spot any cameras outside the place, plus the guy is too drunk for his reaction time to compete with Harry’s peaked senses, so nabbing him is nothing short of a breeze.

He just walks right up, asks for a light, and when Sean so graciously stretches his arm out with a tiny blue lighter clutched in it, Harry sticks his syringe in the guy’s hand and catches him as he falls forward a moment later.

Some dude helping his drunk friend walk back to a car in front of a bar wouldn’t draw an ounce of attention even if there were anyone around to see them. Harry dumps the limp body across the back seat and takes them both back to the studio.

There’s just one thing he wants to ask the guy before he kills him.

“Are you proud of what you’ve done?” Harry taunts him, kicking the naked body to roll him over on his back while Harry towers above with his weapon of choice tonight: the longest pair of sharpened shaping tweezers from his favorite set of glassblowing tools. “How does it make you feel?”

“Better than I’ve ever known.” Sean says calmly from where he’s tied up on the floor. “You ever find something that makes you feel alive? Something you’d risk your entire life just to taste one more time?”

Harry mulls that over for a minute. Maybe it’s not the best thing to base his life around the teachings of his criminals, but it would be far from the first fucked up thing he’s ever done. He appreciates that they always seem to have some sort of wisdom inside them, like despite that they’re moments away from death they still think they’ve got it all figured out. It’s fine, kill me if you want, I know something you don’t know.

Louis is the only thing on Harry’s mind as he plunges the tweezers through the guy’s beating heart. He watches the light fade from his eyes and all Harry can think about is that never-ending sparkle in Louis’s. The thick pool of deep maroon slowly spreading underneath the bare skin feels like freedom.

Once he cleans up, he’s free to go back to where he belongs.

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments & feedback and I love you all too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Harry and Louis started getting to know each other better over a period of time. Harry brought Louis a present and invited him to stay the night, and they both find that they miss each other when they have to be apart.
> 
> Lots more fluff this time!!! Enjoy xx

Louis jumps onto Harry’s sleeping form under the big, fluffy covers of his bed in the morning, startling Harry awake too quickly to recover from his drawling, sleepy voice by the time his eyes shoot open in surprise.

“Morning sunshine!” Louis smiles at his slow-blinking boyfriend beneath him.

“Love your wake-up calls. My favorite.” Harry mumbles, his tone picking up the distinctly sarcastic edge that he adopted from Louis over their time together. He yawns once, big and lazy before gently fluttering his eyes shut again.

“Get up,” Louis whines, bouncing a little to shake the bed so Harry can’t fall back to sleep. “I made us breakfast.”

“Nice try.” Harry says, still fighting against the warm Florida sunlight on his bare skin. The fact that Harry sleeps naked makes it difficult to sleep next to him without getting grabby, but they’re taking it slow. Harry will let Louis in his house and in his bed, but Louis has come to learn that he’s a bit of a prude in the sex department.

He doesn’t mind waiting, though. Sex hasn’t meant anything beyond mutual masturbation to him in a long time. He’s sort of numb to it now, able to completely shut himself off when it happens, seeing as it’s become nothing more than a tool to manipulate his victims and keep them in his clutches. Not to mention he has no idea what kind of stuff Harry’s been dealing with on that front, so however long it takes him to come to terms with his demons enough to be ready for a step like that is fine by Louis.

More than that barrier between them ever has, the way Harry still avoids eating anything Louis ever touches gets to him. He understands the hesitation, sure, but how long can it really last? He loves to cook; he can’t not do it for someone he adores as much as Harry. Every time Harry denies a meal or a drink fixed by him, it feels like he may as well have just pierced Louis’s chest in that all those ages ago.

“Okay, so you don’t have to eat any.” Louis pouts, forcing the pang of rejection deep down into his belly. “But it’s time to get up! I wanna do something today.”

Harry groans and doesn’t budge an inch. Louis is strong, but not enough to pull Harry’s much bigger, sturdier and resistant body out of bed, so he gets creative. He reaches down to tickle Harry’s sides through the covers.

His boyfriend stirs beneath him, powerless against his spreading smile.

“Stop it,” Harry complains through his laughter and wiggling as Louis messes with him.

“Stop sleeping.” Louis counters, doubling his efforts. Roaming all over Harry’s tummy, his chest, neck, between his legs, anywhere he can get his animated fingers to caress.

“Stop being a pain in the ass!” Harry shouts, finally awake now as he retaliates by tickling Louis back.

He bursts into a fit of giggles, falling forward over Harry’s body, refusing to halt his assault even in the midst of his own joy harmonizing with the sound of Harry’s. It’s only when Harry rolls over and pins Louis underneath him that they stop, and only because Harry’s moved on to kissing all of a sudden.

Louis melts into it like he does every time, happy to press their lips together again and again, raging with butterflies inside from how good Harry always tastes and how much he can’t believe he has this all to himself.

“Morning.” Harry finally says when they pull apart, staring down at him with a look like he’s just as awed as Louis feels. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.” Louis says. Harry doesn’t usually sleep in that late, but Louis knows he had a long night because he was busy cleaning up the studio after another kill.

Louis didn’t used to need to do it as often as Harry apparently does, but lately he’s been thinking why not? He was only careful to spread out his murders before as a precaution to getting caught, but Harry’s body count being much higher than his is proof that he knows exactly what he’s doing. Now that Louis has access to someone like that, he’s itching with the urge to get in on the fun himself.

But Harry doesn’t trust him enough to let him participate yet, so Louis just envies from afar.

“What did you have in mind for today?” Harry asks, flipping the covers off them to stand and stretch his legs, raising his arms in the air with another yawn as he works the rest of his muscles too.

Louis salivates. All that bronzed skin, stark in contrast against the pale of his perky little bum in the shape of his deep red boxer briefs. More tattoos than Louis even (they counted once), spread everywhere from his arms to his chest to his perfectly lean thighs. The chiseled curves of his abs, the cute softness on his hips, and the flexing motions in his back as he digs through his closet for something to clothe himself with.

“I want to take you shopping with me.” Louis says, distracting from the lust clouding his brain.

“Shopping for what?” Harry is a bit confused. “I don’t really have the funds to spare right now, but sure, I’ll go with you.”

“No, I want to take you shopping.” Louis says for emphasis, getting out of bed to snake his arms around Harry’s waist now covered in jeans, laying his head against Harry’s bare back. “For clothes. Or whatever you want.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Harry politely declines, but Louis already anticipated he’d have to be persuaded. Good thing he loves a challenge. “I’ll go look with you, but I won’t accept you buying me stuff.”

“Why not?” Louis whines.

“Because then it becomes a thing.” Harry says. “I can take care of myself, you know. I don’t need you to buy me things, especially stuff that’s unnecessary like a new wardrobe when I already have plenty of clothes to wear anyway.”

“Harry, I like to spend money, and I have more than I even know what to do with anymore.” Louis urges. “I’m constantly making big purchases, moving and traveling… there’s Alberto’s hefty salary, I even give some away to charities every year, and it still feels like I haven’t made a dent in my accounts.”

Harry deliberates for a moment as he slips his arms into a thin flannel and only buttons it halfway up.

“I know you don’t need my help, and I know you’d never ask me to get you anything, but I want to. Please let me spoil you.” Louis tries a different approach.

“You want to be my sugar daddy.” He finally says, stone cold in his expression despite the ridiculous sentence even passing through his lips.

“Well when you say it like that…” Louis rolls his eyes, “Call me Daddy all you want.”

Harry laughs. “With as many strange kinks as I’m sure there are between the two of us, I don’t think that’s one of them. At least not on my end.”

“Hey, no judgements.” Louis shrugs. “Can’t say it’s really one of mine either, but I’m not opposed to trying new things.”

“I’ll go shopping with you.” Harry gets back to the intended discussion, “I’ll think about letting you buy me something. That’s the best you’ll get right now.”

“I’ll take it.” Louis smiles, feeling Harry won’t be able to resist once they’re out at Bal Harbour among all the sparkly window displays of pristine high-end stores like Gucci and Armani, Versace and McQueen.

He is so, so right it hurts in the best of ways. Harry is truly like a kid in a candy store, flitting around from one boutique after another, eyes winded in absolute awe at all the fancy designer names and their brilliant merchandise. From clothes to shoes to jewelry to Louis’s personal favorite, the shiny new sunglasses.

“Sure you don’t want me to get you some gifts?” Louis checks in again after they’ve visited Chanel, Balenciaga, and Ralph Lauren.

Harry is biting his lip trying to hold back his excitement and thirst is clear in his eyes, so reminiscent of the look Louis used to get walking around London without a dime to his name in his early years.

“You can have whatever you want… anything you like… just say the word and it’s yours.”

“You are so cruel for bringing me here.” Harry still resists.

“I’m cruel for bringing you to the best mall in Miami and offering to treat you to whatever makes you happy.” Louis repeats.

“Merciless. You are a monster after all.” Harry complains, going all starry eyed as they stop in front of Saint Laurent. The new menswear collection is on display in the windows and Harry’s eyeing a mannequin dressed in a sheer shirt with some crazy black and white pattern on it, and an even wilder pair of silver cowboy boots with tacky red and blue accents in a tribute to the American flag.

“We can go in, you know.” Louis urges, curious to see what he would even pick out. So far he’s seemed to drift towards the quirkiest designs in every store, and Louis is dying to indulge his bold and random clothing tastes. Harry is like a walking personification of his own off-beat art.

“Just to look around.” Harry tentatively agrees. They’ve only been in stores at Louis’s request until now, so he figures it’s a good sign that Harry’s weakening in the face of temptation.

 

Seven stores and four armfuls of shopping bags later, all of Harry’s new things are safely loaded into the back of Louis’s armored SUV. Louis got himself a few new shades and shoes too, but since he’s long used to this lifestyle it’s not nearly the amount of swag Harry ended up taking with him. Louis is so smugly satisfied by the giddiness in Harry’s tone as he chatters on about it being the best shopping day ever, and thank you thank you thank you in between smacking kisses on Louis’s beaming face.

A shopping trip is never complete without a little food to recharge after, so they decide to grab something quick at a nearby food truck and have a picnic on the beach.

“My treat.” Harry says, gladly paying a whopping twenty bucks for their massive plates of burgers and fries, complete with sodas and all.

“How generous of you.” Louis teases as they find a spot along the stone wall to sit and watch the shoreline stretched out in front of them.

“I was just dying to spoil you.” Harry jokes back.

“Who owns this truck?” Louis hops subjects with a rhetorical question, looking briefly over his shoulder into the distance where the workers are busy taking other orders. “Five minutes behind the grill and I’d whip up something twenty times this quality.”

“I’ll say.” Harry agrees around a mouthful of dry burger.

“How can you speak on it when you won’t even eat my food?” Louis asks, still bitter.

“I remember.” Harry says simply.

“Let me rephrase that, then. How can you stomach this over all the stuff I keep trying to cook for you?”

“You killed your first husband and we’re not even married yet.” Harry says.

Louis’s ears pick up on something else entirely.

“Yet?” He pinpoints, watching Harry sputter around the cluster of fries he just shoved in his mouth.

“I just meant—like.” Harry frets, “We’re not that serious, so if you could do that to someone you loved, I can only imagine what you’ve got planned for me.”

“Nothing.” Louis answers honestly. Unless you count a long future of killing and traveling that might include marriage someday too, but those aren’t exactly plans. More like ideas. Hopes and dreams, or whatever.

“He fucked me over big time, so as long as you don’t do something horrid such as that, then what reason would I have to kill you?”

Louis isn’t always one hundred percent sure himself what’s going on here. Harry seems to genuinely enjoy being with him, but so did Ben. Maybe the real reason Harry won’t sleep with him is because he’s too busy with others, or worse, he’s still planning to kill Louis someday and doesn’t want to get too invested. Harry hasn’t proven himself to be the trap kind of killer like Louis, but maybe he’s trying out a new method and Louis is the first attempt at a long-term attachment kill.

The scariest part is that he isn’t sure it even matters. So what if Harry’s planning to get rid of him someday? There’s a bigger possibility that he isn’t; that all of these chats and dates and memories they’ve made together are real, and that’s enough for Louis to dive right in and sink to the bottomless pool of emotions reserved for this guy who seems too perfect for him to be real.

“Is that a threat?” Harry asks, raising a brow. “’Be nice to me or I’ll kill you’ is what it sounds like.”

“You knew the risk when you got yourself into this mess.” Louis jokes, sticking his tongue out at Harry’s face.

“I did.” Harry agrees, full of too much meaning as he pushes a loose piece of hair behind Louis’s ear; a soft smile gracing his lips. Louis just looks back at him, burning inside with how much he wants to say and how high he’s letting his hopes get with every passing day.

“This is scary.” He blurts, turning his head away to shove his mouth full of what must be a dirt flavored cheeseburger.

“What? Why?” Harry asks. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to… I wouldn’t even dream of it anymore.”

“Scary in a different way.” Louis mumbles, taking his time to swallow the bite in his mouth and wash it down with a long slurp of soda. “Just… all I ever wanted from the minute I saw you was us. You were the one that wanted me dead, and now that we’re here you still can’t let me in, and I’m never scared of anything but that’s terrifying to me.”

“Louis, I wouldn’t… I swear, I…” Harry tries to explain, but stays at a loss for words. Instead, he reaches out to stroke his fingers lightly against the side of Louis’s face.

“I told you it isn’t easy for me to trust people. Anyone, even the ones who aren’t like us. It took me at least a full year to even let Niall anywhere near my house, and even then I used to watch him like a hawk, not letting him touch anything or get too comfortable…”

“I don’t care about Niall. I’m not your friend.” Louis says firmly.

“I’m just saying, the fact that I can’t even sleep well without you anymore is a huge leap of faith in my head.” Harry says. “It scares me too, but I’m trying to get better for you. I swear it. You just gotta give me some time.”

“You don’t ever have to sleep without me, you know.” Louis says, truly happy to be there by his side as often as Harry’s willing to let him. “I could kill with you… Help you clean up, and we could go to bed together every night, no matter what.”

Harry hesitates, pulling his arm back now, staring out towards the waves crashing against the shore. “The last time I trusted someone so completely, they turned me into a monster.”

Louis still doesn’t know who that person is or how Harry ended up like this in the first place, but it’s not important right now. The important thing is that he is a killer, and Louis wouldn’t ever feel right about describing him as a monster because that’s about as far from what Harry is as he can tell.

“Me too.” He agrees anyway, thinking back on his teenage years before the final straw broke him. “So what’s the worst that could happen to us now?”

 

Harry doesn’t answer out loud, but after a long moment of them both staring; Harry at the ocean and Louis at his pensive profile, Harry turns to face him again. He reaches into Louis’s lap, plucks a French fry from the paper basket, and pops it into his mouth. Symbolic of giving in enough to at least trust food Louis has touched, if not cooked by himself. Louis could’ve easily slipped something into it, he’s certainly sneaky and practiced enough, but he wouldn’t even dream of it at this point. He actually likes Harry so much he wouldn’t fight back if Harry decided to put him back in his kill room tomorrow. He’s a hundred percent at Harry’s mercy now, and that’s exactly what’s so scary about it.

Still, at least Harry is sticking around for the time being, and putting in the effort to stop looking at Louis as some kind of heartless, bloodthirsty criminal.  
  
Louis smiles at him, tipping his drink towards Harry’s unbelievable lips, watching them curl around the straw and suck down a good sip of it.

“If I get sick after this, I’ll know exactly who to blame.” Harry warns, but there’s a smile playing at his lips, too. He’s teasing. He doesn’t really think anything will happen from it, and just that simple gesture is all it takes to warm Louis’s heart.

“Food poisoning. Unsatisfactory truck conditions.” Louis jokes, and Harry pushes against his shoulder as they laugh it off together.

 

**

 

When they’re done eating their gross burgers and sharing greasy fries like something straight out of Lady & The Tramp, Louis hops off the wall and urges Harry out onto the beach with him. Harry doesn’t need much convincing; he’d probably follow Louis into a trench in the depths of the sea if that’s where he wanted to go.

Louis only gets in enough to let the waves break against his shins, staring down at the hypnotic back and forth as they pull the sand from under the soles of his feet. Harry finds the sight of him more beautiful than any dumb old ocean could ever be, so he watches as Louis gets lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, he bends down quick and snatches something out of the water, the excitement on his face clear in his growing smile.

“Shark tooth!” He says proudly, holding up the smooth black triangle for Harry to see.

“How the fuck did you do that?” Harry gapes at the amount of precision and finesse that must have taken.

“Guess I’m just that good.” Louis beams.

“Let me see.” Harry reaches out to grab it for a closer look, but Louis pulls it away and somehow his grin grows even wider.

“Catch me or I’ll throw it back.” He says before taking off down the shore, splashing shallow water all over his ankles as he runs.

 

Harry loves this about him. For someone who’s stared into the devil’s eyes more than once, Louis is still so vibrant and passionate about life. Always wanting to go places and do things, never failing to turn the most mundane events into something fun and memorable. Harry thinks that’s exactly what he needed. He’s always appreciated his life before, but he didn’t realize he never truly loved it until now. Every day he thinks he couldn’t be more grateful for Louis than he already is, and every day Louis proves him wrong by making him feel more powerful and alive than anything in this world ever has, even killing.

 

He laughs as he chases after Louis down the long stretch of sand, easily catching up to him in no time because Louis seems to forget that Harry’s got about five inches on him and most of it’s in his legs. He scoops Louis up into his arms and carries him back to a dry spot so he couldn’t throw the tooth back even if he tried. Louis pretends to struggle against it, but there’s joy in his voice too,  
  
as Harry drops them both onto the ground in a tangle of limbs and smiles.

“Got you.” Harry brags. “Now give it to me.”

“Ooh, yes sir.” Louis says, eyes gone all sexy and suggestive and Harry swears he’s going to fucking explode. Louis surrenders the shark tooth in his open palm, but Harry’s lost interest already. When Louis is lying underneath him, cute and curvy and waiting, how could Harry even bring himself to care about anything but those lips and how soon he can taste them?

He lowers his face towards Louis, pressing their mouths together, and he can feel Louis getting weak with it too. All his doubts about Louis’s character and their possible future together seem to evaporate when they’re kissing, when Louis’s hands rest on Harry’s hips or tangle in his hair, when Harry’s brain is too full of want and need and near desperation like this. That’s why he’s so wary about wherever they’re headed now. Not because he doesn’t trust Louis, but because he doesn’t trust himself to make the right judgements here. Louis has him under his spell, and Harry’s afraid of what that means if Louis ever decides he’s done. Would Harry even see it coming, or would he be too blinded by the reflection of his own feelings in those deadly blue eyes?

“There’s sand in my ass.” He says when they break apart. Harry chuckles back at him, rolling off to lie down on his back by Louis’s side.

“Me too. Isn’t it great?” Harry muses.

“Not the word I was looking for. You alright?” Louis checks, looking over in amused confusion.

“Better than alright.” Harry smiles back at him. “I’d forgotten what it was like to enjoy life this much.”

Louis fights his own blushing smile, to no avail. “I know exactly what you mean. Mostly I don’t hate every minute of it, but there’s bad times and there’s okay times… and now all of a sudden, there’s good times too.”

“I can be myself with you.” Harry says, still in awe of the fact every time it crosses his mind. He may still have to hide from the rest of the world, but it gets so exhausting, so fast. Louis is like coming home from a long day of work and kicking off your shoes, fixing a snack, and finally getting to sit on the couch in nothing but your underwear. No pretense, no one to impress, not a care in the world until the next day starts and you know you’ll have to do it all over again. “I’m so glad I didn’t end up killing you.”

Louis laughs. “I bet I’m happier about that than you’ll ever be.”

“I doubt it.” Harry says, unable to wipe the dopey smile from his face as he gives mental thanks that he didn’t end up ruining this before it even had a chance to get started. It must be meant to be.

 

They kiss for a while longer, holding hands in the sand while they stare up at the clear sky above them and waste the rest of the day talking about nonsense. Harry’s phone buzzing in his pocket is what pops their little bubble long enough to realize the sun is starting to set and it’s probably time to get going.

“You’ll never guess who one of my clients has me looking into right now.” Niall never uses a proper greeting to start a conversation.

“Who—”  
  
“You’ll literally never guess, I’m just gonna tell you. It’s the Orlando Shooter from not too long ago.” Niall blurts.

“I remember.” Harry says through clenched teeth. The maniac who took a gun to the heads of thirteen children between the ages of 6 and 11, and managed to get away by killing the four other staff members who tried to stop him. The horrid motherfucker that Harry’s been dying to get his hands on for months, if only they had a single piece of information as to who that person is.

“This woman came to me a couple weeks ago wanting to investigate her son. She was sure he was up to something fishy, just didn’t know what.” Niall starts explaining. “Background check shows he used to be a teacher at the school he hit, but it was like four years ago that they fired him so of course nobody would jump to that conclusion. People lose their jobs all the time, right? I guess the cops looked into him and a few others and his story checked out, but they aren’t me.”

Louis is playing footsie with him now, wiggling his cute little toes against Harry’s as a distraction while he’s on the phone. Harry couldn’t think of a better contrast to the atrocities Niall is yapping on about.

“Anyway, I’ve been following him since then and I was just about to give up cause he’s honestly boring as fuck, but then he went to an ammo store the other day.” Niall explains. “And he’s been again twice since then. Plus, I found tons of illegal firearms in the shed behind his house, along with fucking blueprints of the school and stars on certain classrooms… All the same ones that were hit first, and a few new ones too.”

“You think he’s planning to strike again?” Harry picks up on exactly the same page Niall’s getting at.

“He keeps going back to the scene of the crime.” Niall confirms. “Just driving past, never getting out, but it’s been every day for the past three and when I found that stuff on him today, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. How soon can you get here?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe.” Harry says. There’s that familiar little hunger growing in his belly again. Fuck yes, Harry can’t wait to take this guy down.

“See you then.” Niall says, clicking the line dead again.

 

“Niall.” Harry tells Louis. “He found the Orlando Shooter.”

“That fucker.” Louis hisses automatically, making Harry blink slowly in surprise. “Sorry, not Niall. I mean the shooter.”

“I figured… I just didn’t expect you’d have such a strong reaction.”

“Who wouldn’t want to see that sonofabitch in a permanent grave?” Louis asks. “All those poor kids… and their families… Fuck that guy, honestly, even I can’t believe it. You’re gonna get him, right?”

“Assuming I can find the opportunity to get him in my kill room, hell yeah.” Harry says.

“So you’re gonna ask him on a date, then?” Louis teases. “You know how I feel about you flirting with other men…”

Harry pushes against his shoulder, rolling his eyes at the absurdity. “That’s not usually how I work, ya know. You’re the one who set yourself up for it so easily.”  
  
“Your fault for being so irresistible.” Louis counters playfully. God. Harry really can’t handle when he says stuff like that. He’s never felt extremely ugly or unwanted before, but he’s also not used to feeling beautiful and very much wanted either.

“Do you wanna come with me for the briefing?” Harry blurts. He wants to take Louis with him everywhere, for the rest of the foreseeable future.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Louis asks, tentative. “I know Niall still doesn’t like me.”

After getting away from Harry for a couple weeks, Niall eventually drifted back to him. Harry doesn’t know why; Niall’s life would be so much easier without him, but he’s glad that Niall still seems to need him in some way, at least.

However, he’s been adamant about keeping the Louis-talk to a bare minimum. Officially meeting him has been out of the question until now that Harry’s starting to think maybe Louis isn’t going anywhere either. They’re going to have to learn to co-exist together sometime, because Harry really can’t balance triple lives, and he doesn’t like the idea of picking one of them over the other.

“I like you.” Harry persuades, kissing Louis right on the tip of his cute little nose. “So if Niall can’t be my friend that’s fine, but if he wants to keep me around then he needs to realize that you’re part of the deal, too.”

“You’ll protect me from his wrath, then?”

“You’re an actual murderer,” Harry laughs, “What have you got to fear about him?”

“Well I thought it was a given that the people you care about are off-limits to me, so it’s not as if I could fight back if it came to that.” Louis says.

“It won’t, but I’ll protect you no matter what.” Harry promises, brushing the stray wisps of Louis’s fringe out of his eyes when he adds, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psssst never be afraid to leave me comments, but even if you don't I love you anyway!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Louis and Harry enjoyed a nice shopping day and some chill time on the beach. Niall called to set up a new kill, so Harry invited Louis along this time.
> 
> Anyway there's a bunch of blood in this chapter and some light torture and weird sexy stuff too. Enjoy! xx

Not to say that Niall looked exactly thrilled when he opened the door, but upon seeing Harry and Louis stand with their hands interlocked on the front step, his face drops into something totally unpleasant.

“Nope. Nu-uh. No. Absolutely not.” He says, specifically addressing only Harry. “What were you thinking? These sessions have always been private and that’s not about t’change just cause you’ve gone all googly-eyed for some psycho.”

“I thought you’d be mature enough to accept the fact that I care about him and want you to get along, but I guess that was a bad call.” Harry says, squeezing Louis’s hand in reassurance.

“Damn right, it was.” Niall snaps.

“He’s alright, Ni. I swear.” Harry tries to persuade. “He wants to help. He wants to see this guy go down just as much as we do.”

“He tell you that himself?” Niall scoffs. “Didn’t think I had to be the one to remind you of this, but he’s pretty good at lying to get what he wants.”

“I’d appreciate it if you both stopped talking about me like I’m not standing right here.” Louis chimes in, calm and polite as possible for the sake of good graces.

“You know how I feel about you.” Niall tears into him next. “Consider it my formal warning that if you lay a finger on him or either of the Paynes, every cop in America will have your face memorized before you can even change your name and hop on a plane out of here.”

“With all due respect, Niall, you’ve been avoiding me since day one, so I really don’t think you’re qualified to be making such harsh judgements.” Louis defends himself, “You may find it hard to believe, but I do happen to care about Harry too, and I assure you my intentions with him haven’t been malicious for quite some time. Which is why I agreed to meet you today, since he seems so keen on making things work between all of us… it might be wise to listen to what he has to say.”

Niall looks to Harry again, pleading with his eyes to get some kind of backup, but Harry’s clearly on Louis’s side with this one. He just wants them to get along and maybe someday even make friends with each other. He won’t ask for that much, though. All he’s asking for right now is some civility.

He puts on his best sad eyes and pouty lips for Niall to please just give Louis a chance. Niall is determined to hold his glare for a moment longer.

Eventually gives in, rolling his eyes with a reluctant sigh.

“The things I do for you, holy shit.” He mumbles, holding the door wide open.

“Love you.” Harry says, releasing his grip on Louis’s hand to wrap his arms around Niall in a big, much deserved hug.

“Yeah, yeah.” Niall shrugs it off, warning Louis not to touch anything as he leads them to his living room to dish out what else he knows about the Orlando Shooter and his daily patterns.

 

*

 

Roland Wagner, 47, a tall skinny white man who used to have it all; wife and kids and the whole nine-yards, but now lives alone in a tiny house that’s barely one step up from a trailer. So long as Niall’s been following him he hasn’t gone to the shooting range, but today that’s where they all end up waiting into late evening. He’s been inside for hours, no doubt sharpening his aim for the event he must be planning soon. Which means Harry has to act tonight, otherwise who know when he’ll make his attack?

“How you gonna nab him if he’s armed?” Niall asks.

“I don’t know.” Harry admits, still thinking up a strategy in his head.

He’s not a superhero, he has to be realistic about it. He can’t just snatch the guy up in such a public setting, but breaking into his house could be even more dangerous with so much firepower on his side.

“If we could just get him into the car you could sedate him, right?” Louis asks, poking his head between the two of them from the back seat.

“Oh, that’ll work.” Niall snorts. “’Come see my car, it’s the one with tinted windows and a bunch of people you don’t recognize inside.’ Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to follow strange men into their vans?”

Louis narrows his eyes at Niall. “Actually, I murdered my mum before she could teach me that one.”

Niall’s eyes widen in pure shock, but before he can fully freak out about it Harry pipes up.

“He’s kidding. Louis’s funny like that.” He gives Louis a nasty look that tells him to knock it off though.

“It’ll work.” Louis says. “Trust me, I get strange men to follow me places all the time. You just gotta flirt with them a little. Really turn on the charm.”

“So he’s admitting to messing around behind your back.” Niall accuses.

“It’s obvious he meant in the past, Niall.” Harry defends, knowing with absolute certainty that that’s one problem they’ll never have in this relationship.

He can sense that sticking up for Louis is going to become a pattern for a while. At least until he and Niall can both learn to play nice. Still, he should be grateful they’ve even agreed to put up with each other for the time being.

“What if he’s not into men?” Niall asks.

“Never been a problem before.” Louis’s grin spreads slowly, fully confident in his ability to lure men into his clutches regardless of their established sexuality. Hell, he managed to grab Harry’s attention despite that he knew exactly what happens to all the people Louis gets involved with.

“You’re not going in there. It’s too dangerous.” Harry forbids.

“What makes it any safer for you to be the one who does it?” Louis counters.

“Nothing, but it’s my kill, so I’ll figure something else out.” Harry says. “I refuse to let you put yourself at risk on my account, though.”

“Haz-za,” Louis coos, reaching to play with the free-flying tufts of hair at the back of Harry’s neck, underneath his sloppily tied bun. “I’ll be alright. Let me help you.”

“Gross.” Niall makes a face. “Let him do it, H. Don’t see the harm in having some extra help.”

“Of course not.” Harry rolls his eyes. “You don’t care if Louis comes out of it alive or not.”

“I care if you do, though.” Niall says, “And if this one is so full of himself that he thinks he could do a better job at this part, why not let him try? Since you trust him so much now.”

“I do.” Harry says. Maybe he doesn’t trust Louis enough to eat his potentially poisoned food, but Harry definitely trusts him enough not to ruin a potential kill for him.

“So let me go, Harry. I promise I’ll be so good.” Louis begs. “I don’t even have to get him to follow me to a hotel, just out the door and close enough for you to drug him. It’ll be a breeze.”

It’s the only thing that makes sense at this point. Harry’s not good enough at flirting with random strangers, let alone with someone he’s dying to kill this badly, and the bigger risk would be letting him get away to take any more innocent children’s lives.

“Be careful.” Harry says, pulling Louis’s face in closer for a kiss that lingers beyond his intention. The marginal chance of Louis getting hurt fills him with more fear than possibly being killed by Louis ever has.

“Promise.” Louis smiles when they break apart, surging forward for one more quick peck before he backs off and opens the door on his side.

“Gross.” Niall groans again.

Harry’s fine. He’s fine.

*

“That fucker didn’t even look at my bum in these jeans.” Louis pouts, returning safe and sound a little more than an agonizing half hour later. “How is that possible? I’m not losing my touch, am I? I knew I should’ve worn the red ones today.”

Harry just laughs. It’s endearing that Louis is so in love with himself it bothers him when anyone else isn’t.

“You look great. Amazing. Always do.” Harry says.

“I know you think that, but why didn’t he?” Louis wonders.

“Maybe because he has eyes.” Niall says.

“This is serious, Niall.” Louis turns to look him firmly in the eyes for maybe the first time ever. “No bullshit, all biases aside, I need you to tell me Harry isn’t the only one who would do me right now.”

“Are you asking me to—” Niall looks back and forth between Louis and Harry with his jaw dropped in shock. He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, or maybe he does and just isn’t actually going to say it. He hasn’t had the time to warm up to how ridiculously shameless Louis can be yet.

“You can answer, I don’t mind.” Harry shrugs. He’s never been the jealous type. In fact, lately he’s become more of the show-offy, look how fucking hot my boyfriend is type.

“Just tell me you would! But only if you mean it. Be honest.” Louis urges. “Or tell me literally anyone else in the world would. Like, if you didn’t know who I was you wouldn’t think it weird to see a gorgeous man on my arm in public.”

Niall is still at a loss for words, but Louis isn’t giving him a free pass. After a long, uncomfortable pause he’s willing to admit, “Guess you’re not the worst looking guy ever. Maybe if you weren’t a greedy soul-sucking murderer who’s dating my best friend I’d be into it.”

“Thank you.” Louis delights into a smile, reaching to pat Niall’s shoulder in approval. “Unfortunately, blondes have never been my type, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I wasn’t saying I wanted to—oh, fuck off.” Niall huffs and Harry chuckles, loving the idea that they didn’t totally hate each other for one second there. “The guy probably wasn’t biting because he’s there to shoot, not pick up dick.”

“He does have a point.” Harry says.

“Then we’ll wait until he’s done and I’ll try again.” Louis is determined now, eyeing the building’s front door as if that will summon him sooner, so Louis can settle this new personal vendetta.

 

*

 

It’s about another half hour before Roland finally exits the building.

Whatever Louis says to him this time works. He doesn’t look like he’s ready to rip Louis’s clothes off right away, but his interest is piqued enough to follow Louis as he leads their target to the car with his excited, flirty chatter. Even as Harry watches him work his magic on another man, all he can feel is an overwhelming sense of pride that his boyfriend obviously knows exactly what he’s doing.

Harry and Niall crouch down on the floor of the backseat when Louis brings Roland closer, and the whispering comes to an abrupt halt when someone reaches for the driver’s side door.

“Allow me.” Roland says, holding it open for a fake-blushing Louis to climb behind the wheel. He carefully does not spare a glance towards his hidden friends as he reaches over to pop the passenger’s door open from the inside.

“Just returning the favor.” Louis smiles at the shooter, sitting up straight again when the guy climbs into the opposite seat.

Roland barely has time to ask, “Maybe we should get comfortable in the back instead?” before Harry reaches around and sticks the syringe into his thigh, steadying the guy’s neck with a constricting hand as he empties it completely because okay, maybe actually hearing someone try to get with Louis did spark a different kind of green eyed monster in him.

They all just stare at his limp form for a minute. Louis reaches up to pluck the shades from his own hair and fit them over Roland’s eyes. The way he’s slumped back against the seat makes it look like he’s just another friend in the group, taking a nap on the long drive home.

“Nice!” Louis cheers, holding his up for a high five. Harry quickly smacks their palms together with a triumphant smile, then Louis turns his open hand to Niall for his turn.

Niall just stares at it and says, “Get out of the front seat. I’m driving us home.”

*

The anesthetic only provides a couple hours of sedation at a time, so Harry came prepared with an extra dose to re-administer on the way back. Niall doesn’t have much to say anymore. He’s clearly uncomfortable with the fact that there’s a soon-to-be dead body of a mass-murderer slouched over in his car, but it’s not like they had many options. Louis is sedated in his own way too; content and relaxed into silence as he leans his head on Harry’s shoulder and lightly traces over the lines of his tattoos.

Harry is thinking about how easy it was for Louis to capture a wild criminal. Even after his advances were rejected once, he still got the intended result without an ounce of suspicion to tip the shooter off. He just keeps getting better, and Harry’s tired of waiting on his toes to be proven wrong. He’s so good to Harry, and good for Harry, that Harry doesn’t ever want him to leave. Not even knowing what Harry intends to do when they get home; he’s ready to have Louis there with him through it all.

“Just drop us both at mine. You’ve done enough for me today, thank you, Niall.” Harry says sincerely.

Louis lifts his head at that, looking up at Harry with a question in his eyes that he doesn’t even have to ask out loud. Harry smiles, tipping his chin up to press their lips together for a sweet, soft kiss.

“Welcome, I guess.” Niall shrugs, looking back through the rearview mirror. “Just don’t let this one get away.”

It’s dark out by the time they get back and Harry’s house is secluded enough that there’s no chance his nearest neighbor would be able to see them through the trees even if they were trying. That’s why he knew this place would be perfect from the moment he first saw it.

Louis helps Harry get the shooter’s body into the back of Harry’s jeep, and Niall is already gone by the time they’re set to go.

“So.” Louis says, leaning against the chipping white paint job as he crosses his arms. “I’ll see you when you get back, then?”

“I think you should come with me this time.” Harry just blurts it out, holding his breath to gauge how Louis feels.

“Really?” His whole face raises, incredulous. “You wanna let me watch?”

“No, I want you to…” Harry wonders if there’s even a way to phrase it eloquently. “I mean, he’s yours if you want him.”

“So this is like a teamwork thing?” Louis only gets more adorably excited. Harry is dying to give him absolutely anything he wants.

“I guess it is now. I wouldn’t have even caught him without you.” Harry says.

“You would’ve worked something out eventually.” Louis gives credit where it isn’t due. “Seriously, you’ve been waiting to take this guy down since before we even met. I can’t take that from you.”

“Consider it a gift. I went out just last night, so I’m good for a while. As far as I know you haven’t since moving to Miami.” Harry urges, having a mental laugh at the fact that they’re arguing over who gets to kill someone now. If this is where their future is headed, Harry must have found his heaven in the middle of eternal hell.

“That is very true.” Louis entertains the idea. “You’ll be there in case something goes wrong, right?”

Louis isn’t used to killing like Harry does. This is a whole new playing field for him, and Harry’s extremely interested in how he’s going to handle having actual weapons at his disposal and a helpless body to do whatever he pleases with.

“Of course. My parents would kill me if I left somebody the shop unsupervised.” Harry jokes, and Louis brightens into something equal parts sinister and enchanting.

“Okay. Let’s go give this fucker what he deserves.”

 

*

 

They’re located near enough to the beach that business is always steady during the day, but at this time of night most of the strips have closed and the commotion has gathered farther down at the bars and bonfires in the distance. Just to be absolutely sure no one ever sees him dragging bodies into the building after hours, Harry always parks in the back anyway.

He gives Louis free reign, only helping him set up their victim however he directs it. Louis wants the shackles around the guy’s wrists, so they can hang the chain from a hook in the ceiling and let him dangle uncomfortably just above the ground. They tape his ankles up tight, seal his mouth shut, and then Harry rolls a sleeve of glassmaking tools onto the table for Louis to take his pick while they wait for the second dose of sedative to wear off.

Louis’s fingers run over each set of different sized tweezers, he pauses to examine the crimpers with their similar handles and flattened tips, his brows quirk at the sight of the handheld torches, and he finally settles on a set of blunt shears to play with for a bit, getting used to the open and close of it in his hands. Every weird little option could easily be turned towards Harry if the desire struck, but he isn’t worried about that in the slightest anymore.

For Harry, this night is the ultimate surrender.

“Do you happen to have a knife?” Louis asks, looking up with big, hopeful eyes that Harry couldn’t turn down even if he wanted to.

He reaches over to pull a hidden handle from a slot, revealing the pointy triangular tip with its precisely sharpened edges. It’s not a knife exactly, looks more like a digging spade than anything, but it’s the closest thing they’ve got.

“It’s used for shaping and flaring edges, but it’ll cut through skin with no problem.” Harry advises.

“This will work just fine, thank you.” Louis smiles, curling his hand around the grip on the handle, flicking his wrist to get the feel of it.

The room is so charged with energy that Harry’s suffocating in it. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he can bet that whatever’s coming will be a damn good show. Louis never does anything halfway.

Two heads turn towards the victim when he groans behind his taped up mouth, struggling to lift his head up through the grogginess of the fading anesthetic.

Louis looks back at Harry with eyes slightly panicked. It’s his first time and he’s nervous, Harry realizes, he’s searching for some kind of motivation to just get in there. So Harry leans forward and closes the distance between their faces with an kiss, pouring all of his heart and as much encouragement into it as he can.

“You’ll do great. Go for it.” He says, lingering in Louis’s personal space, pressing their foreheads together in comfort. Louis smiles softly, nodding once before turning around to face their wakening target.

The shooter tries to struggle against his restraints, only enough to realize there’s nothing he can do to wiggle free. He quickly gives up and just stands there instead, naked and waiting with a meaningless threat behind his eyes.

Louis takes a few careful steps forward, stopping at an appropriate distance to reach forward for the edge of the tape across his mouth. His fingers linger as he pauses to look over his shoulder, “What do I say to him?”

“Anything you want, it’s your kill.” Harry says. “I’m just here for support. Do whatever feels right to you.”

Louis nods, mulling it over for a moment before lowering his hand again.

“I don’t think I want to talk to him. I think I just want to hurt him.” He says, still sounding like he’s waiting for approval. Harry simply nods to give him permission to proceed however he sees fit, and that seems to be enough for him to finally get the ball rolling.

“What could you possibly have to say for yourself that would justify all the pain you’ve caused, anyway?” Louis asks, leaning in close to the shooter’s face, taunting him.

He doesn’t move an inch or make a single sound, just keeps staring daggers right into Louis’s eyes.

“All those sweet children you robbed of their entire future.” Louis says, sticking the pointed tip in just deep enough to cut through layers of skin, dragging it down his chest in a straight line, watching the blood drip to the floor at his feet. “All the grief their families have to bear for the rest of their lives. How you’ve traumatized the rest of those little kids…”

He gets it, Harry sees. He’s letting this man’s heinous offense fuel him, focusing on the innocent people he’s affected so deeply and making him truly pay for his crimes. Louis isn’t any more of a monster than Harry himself. As he watches his boyfriend work, he’s only filled with more and more admiration, pride, gratitude.

Louis stares down the victim as he swirls the tool around to carve a continuous design into the skin, trying to get some kind of reaction. Roland doesn’t even struggle underneath the blade, barely changes his neutral expression the whole time, and Louis doesn’t like that. Harry watches him push the tool in deeper, blood squirting all over his hands until the shooter finally scrunches his face in discomfort.

“Ah, so you are capable of feeling something.” Louis smiles, menacing as he yanks it out again quick, splattering more blood on himself as much as the victim’s bare body. It’s hardly a problem when Louis replaces the blade with his fingers, jamming two of them into the open wound, feeling around the shiny red flesh inside, experimenting.

Harry’s never been so turned on in his life. It feels like if Louis even looks at him right now, his dick’s going to bust through his jeans. Thankfully he seems way too focused on what he’s doing to even realize Harry’s still there, which is part of what’s so hot about it. The blood sprayed everywhere is what got Harry’s own pulsing through his veins, but Louis’s intensity and dedication to the kill is what’s got his cock throbbing so hard. He wants to grab Louis all over, anywhere he can reach, rip his clothes off and throw him on the table, fuck him so hard he can’t even see in color anymore.

Harry’s never gotten any kind of sexual satisfaction out of killing before, let alone physical torture. He prefers psychological torture if anything, but Louis is so captivating and ethereal in the midst of his barbarity that Harry’s fucking plummeting off a mountain top in love.

It looks like he’s almost done messing with their victim for now. He’s smearing blood around the guy’s torso, nails digging into the skin as they scrape over all his deep gashes, and the shooter is back to a stone-cold pretense again.

Louis tires of that, so he reaches up to jerk the guy’s face straight ahead and says, “I guess I’ll let you have some kind of final words.”

He rips the tape off and quickly shoves three bloody fingers into his mouth, pulling his jaw wide open to prevent any biting. “Don’t you fucking dare scream or I’ll kill you before you can even finish.”

Holy fuck, Harry’s going to combust at any second.

The shooter doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t even nod in acknowledgement, but Louis gave his warning already, so he slips his fingers out and lets him breathe for a moment.

Without being prompted again, Roland looks right into Louis’s eyes.

“I was gonna blow that whole school to the ground tomorrow. Walk right in, shoot anyone in range, and throw a ton of grenades once I was out of ammo.” He says. “Kill me, I don’t give a shit. I was gonna do it to myself anyway.”

“Well now you don’t get to take any more innocent lives with you.” Louis snarls, anger surging again.

His hands shoot up to wrap around the guy’s neck and constrict with full force. He doesn’t let up for a single second, only tightens his grip harder when the victim starts to struggle, uselessly wiggling as his face turns from bright red to sick purple, pops the blood vessels behind his eyes, and the body goes limp shortly after.

Still, Louis keeps squeezing for a few more seconds, shaking the lifeless corpse a couple times just to make absolutely sure he’s gone.

 

**

 

It’s silent for a long moment after Louis finally lets go. He stands there to admire his work; the now motionless figure dangling in front of him, dripping more blood into the widening pool already underneath his feet. He looks down at the puddle, kicks his foot to move it around a little, and then remembers that he hasn’t actually been alone all this time. He was so absorbed in the kill that it felt like he and his victim existed underneath an iron tent of isolation.

He turns to face Harry again, who’s just staring back at him like he can’t find the right words to say anymore. Louis really hopes he didn’t get too carried away and scare Harry off with his ruthlessness. He was really looking forward to more of this between them.

“Too much?” He asks, apprehensive in his tone and all through his veins.

“No. That was fucking perfect.” Harry growls, running towards him so fast Louis barely has time to process the moment between when he crosses the room and when his lips are mashed against Louis’s.

He kisses back like it’s second nature, filled with feelings like never before. Euphoria being the most prominent, because he just finished his first bloody murder ever and his heart is pounding in his chest, and he realizes he loves Harry so much for giving this to him, and he can’t even think hard enough to figure out all the other things going on inside him because Harry is grabbing his hands, smearing blood all over his own face and down his own bare chest and that’s so fucking twisted and beautiful Louis just goes right along with it.

He snakes his hands around to Harry’s back, pressing bloody hand prints from the curve of his bum up to his shoulder blades, dragging the last of it over his flexing muscles. Harry is curled into him and pressed so close Louis’s entire world is engulfed by the warmth and the smell of him, like fresh laundry and apple cider even with the sweat beading on his skin while he desperately thrusts against Louis’s thigh, rubbing himself off through their jeans.

“You really liked that, didn’t you?” Louis teases, threading his fingers through Harry’s curls and pulling his head back, forcing him to unbury his face from Louis’s neck for a second.

“You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met.” Harry answers gruffly, surprising Louis when he hoists him up by his bum and carries him over to the table. Like something straight out of a dirty porno, Harry brushes the unchosen tools to the floor with one swipe and a giant crash as he lays Louis down on his back and yanks his blood-stained shirt off.

“So fucking gorgeous,” Harry praises. Louis arches his back up into Harry’s kisses as they travel down his chest, over his nipples, nibbling little marks into the softness above the hem of his jeans. “Genius. Sexiest killer on the planet.”

“Well, that can’t be true. You exist.” Louis breathes, heart beating five times faster as he realizes how bad Harry wants him right now. He’s well past hard enough for it too, but Louis has never seen Harry so feral and hungry before. This is a whole new side of him.

“You win by a long shot.” Harry dismisses, winning the argument only because he grinds his palm against Louis’s bulge, asking, “Need to taste you right now, please?”

“Jesus Christ, Harry, yes.” Louis moans, letting his head fall back as Harry races to undo his jeans and pull his cock out into the thick, sticky air. “Do whatever you fucking want with me.”

Harry is so frantic he can’t even savor it. He just plunges right down and takes Louis halfway into his throat, working his hand around the rest and sliding his mouth back and forth as he gets a little further to the end each time. Louis isn’t going to last long; he hasn’t felt anything real in ages and it’s like everything’s just been dormant inside him until now, waiting for the wet warmth of Harry’s tongue and his plump glistening lips stretched around a cock to revive with a vengeance.

Harry takes him all the way in, gagging a little as Louis bumps the back of his throat, but he holds it there and hollows his cheeks, sucking like he never wants to let go. Louis is lost in the clouds of bliss, on another planet as he lets his sounds flow freely, moaning and begging for more as he rides out the tsunami growing in his belly.

“Gonna—fucking—” He tries to warn Harry, but that only encourages him to take it a step further, forcing his jaw wider open to take Louis’s balls into his mouth too. That’s it, Louis couldn’t last another second even if he was ordered to.

His body shivers as he rides it out, jerking forward as he pulses hot white down Harry’s throat while Harry stares up at him, watching with a mouth stuffed full of come and cock.

When he finally lets up, softly pulling off Louis’s spent shaft and licking around his lips to make sure he got every last bit, Louis relaxes with a huff. He falls flat onto his back against the table again, and Harry unzips himself too. Louis is dying to see it, but he can’t even lift up right now, limbs too heavy in the wake of recovery from sensory overload.

Harry leans over and kisses him some more, first on his lips and then down to trace his jaw, suckle at his neck hard enough to leave a mark. He climbs on top while he works, touching his bare cock to Louis’s limp one and Louis whimpers, body involuntary jolting towards the unbelievable fire of sensitivity between them.

Harry only needs to rock forward a few times, brushing them together while Louis writhes and whines like a pathetic little animal underneath him. Harry pins his arms down to hold him in place while he thrusts against Louis’s cock, shouting as he comes between them, leaving a sticky mess of come and blood on his stomach that Louis can’t even be bothered to wrap his fuzzy head around right now.

Both panting and exhausted, Harry collapses on top of him, pressing breathy kisses all over the side of Louis’s face. His cheek, the corner of his mouth, his ear, wherever Harry’s lips can reach from his awkward, slumped over position. Like he still just can’t get enough.

“I never want to imagine my future without you in it.” Harry whispers after they’ve both had a chance to ride out the high.

They haven’t even tried to get dressed yet, let alone made any effort to take care of the dead body still dangling and dripping near them.

“You won’t ever have to.” Louis says, kissing Harry once again, meaning it with every cell in his body. After what’s been the best night of his life to date, he wouldn’t dream of a life without Harry either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you guys and love hearing from you :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Niall and Louis aren't getting along, but both care too much about Harry to completely avoid each other anymore. Louis killed a man with his own two hands, thanks to Harry so graciously providing the weapons, room, and backup for him to do so.

The next afternoon, the two of them are back bright and early to open up shop. Liam and Sophia aren’t even there yet, which is a little odd because usually Liam’s already been working for a couple hours before Harry starts his shift. Harry always has to sneak the cremated ashes into his own batch while Liam’s occupied with other things.

Today, it’s just Louis and Harry watching the glass mixture turn to molten lava in the furnace before them.

“Can I do it?” Louis is excited to dispose of his first body. The shooter wasn’t wearing shades when they caught him, but Harry offered to mold Louis a decorative pair to add to the collection on his bureau and he said that would be brilliant. Art and tradition all mixed into one.

“Of course.” Harry says, handing him an extra pair of heat gloves and the heavy sack full of their dusty treasure. “Protect yourself, though. It’s hot in there.”

Louis has to stand on his tiptoes to properly reach into the opening over the edge of the tank, and the gloves are so big around his hands that it makes him look extra delicate and nonthreatening even as he pours a bag full of remains from the dead body he strangled with his bare hands into a vat of boiling glass.

“It’s so pretty.” He awes, staring into the heat as they watch the ashes slowly sink underneath the thick surface.

“How do you feel?” Harry asks. They may have fooled around about it, sure, but they haven’t actually talked about it the whole time they were cleaning the studio, or in the time between when they finally fell into bed last night and the drive here first thing after waking up.

“It’s like…” Louis struggles to find the right words, still mesmerized by the swirls of grey against scorching orange as Harry stirs the mixture to fully dissolve the evidence. “Safe. It feels like the world is right.”

Harry simply nods his understanding

“I know that’s not true…” Louis goes on, trying to formulate his thoughts. “There’s still tons more out there just like him, worse even… but for now, it feels like we’ve done something great.”

“That’s what you think?” Harry’s surprised by his choice of adjective. In all his years of doing this, all the hearts he’s stopped, the blood he’s marveled at, the trophies he’s created, he’d never describe it that way. Morbid, beautiful, a personal release, a haven, a service to society… but a great one? Not exactly.

“We saved so many lives, Harry. It kinda feels like we are heroes.” He says.

“We’re not, though.” Harry reminds him. “We’re still murderers, just like you said before… and just like I said before, all we’re doing is making the best of a bad situation.”

“Am I not allowed to enjoy it, then?” Louis asks, a little too sassy for Harry’s liking. “I’m supposed to suppress my real feelings and be all dark like you, because that’s the only right way to be a killer, huh?”

He honestly doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s never been able to accept the monstrous part of himself so easily, let alone embrace it thoroughly as Louis seems to. Harry would much rather not feel the urge to kill at all if he had the choice, but that’s just the thing. He never did have a choice. This life was imposed on him before he had the ability to differentiate between right and wrong for himself. By then, there was no going back.

He always used to believe it was an accident. He just happened to walk in on her in the middle of a kill, and in the weeks, months, years after when sweet little Harry kept asking questions about how it felt to take a life, if she’d done it again since, and how she managed to cover her tracks all the time, she was only trying to protect him. He was just a curious child, right? Where’s the harm in feeding his hungry heart, as long as he wasn’t actually hurting anyone?

Looking back now, it seems like the most fucked up thing in the world. Right on par with some of his own victim’s offenses.

She wasn’t protecting him at all, she was training him. She knew it was only a matter of time, so she made sure he had all the information he needed to survive after his inevitable first strike. She should’ve tried to help him somehow, before it got beyond his control. She wasn’t what a mother should be at all. Killing is the only thing she ever truly cared about. She risked her entire life for it, the lives of her family, and everything that should’ve been important to her was nothing more than a carefully constructed ruse to ensure that she was able to continue her own work without suspicion.

And despite his best efforts to avoid it, Harry is hardly any better.

“Think about all those kids who would’ve suffered and died today if not for us.” Louis breaks Harry out of his destructive train of thought. “We’re definitely not like Batman or Spiderman… more like Deadpool or The Punisher. Anti-heroes, killing and saving lives. All in a day’s work.”

He’s grown fond of Louis’s child-like appreciation for the little joys of life, but Harry really doesn’t like comparing himself to any kind of hero. He certainly doesn’t feel like one. Peace and happiness are two different things, and he’s well aware that of the fact that getting any sort of pleasure from killing is wrong. How could he ever learn to be happy about what he is? This is still cold-blooded murder, however way you spin it.

“You’re making it sound like it’s perfectly okay to be this way.” Harry argues.

“I’m not saying it’s okay, but it is what it is.” Louis shrugs. “We are what we are. Because of us, this asshole won’t be able to hurt anyone else ever again. I think that’s something to be proud of.”

“And we’ll keep killing, because there’s always going to be people like him to stop.” Harry says. “Going after them ourselves ultimately just feeds more into the cycle of evil. You can’t solve crime with more crime.”

“Harry…” Louis sighs, slipping his gloves off as he backs away from the melting pot of glass, reaching to do the same for Harry so he can fit their fingers together in comfort. “I wish you didn’t have to be so… tortured inside all the time. I wish I could help you see.”

“How do you do it?” Harry asks. “How do you ignore the guilt?”

“There’s nothing to ignore.” Louis answers simply. “I just don’t feel bad about it to begin with. Why should I? Why should you? It’s like you said, some people don’t deserve to live, and I haven’t a single shred of doubt in my heart that he was one of them.”

Harry still keeps Louis at a distance too often, but the more time they spend together the more impossible it becomes to not to deepen their unique connection. After the messed up, yet strangely magical night they just spent together, Harry can feel the walls slowly starting to crumble in him and it’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Sophia was almost a victim not too long ago.” Harry stares deep into the eyes that have become his home. He quickly realizes it’s too much, the intensity between them, and switches his focus into the space behind Louis’s head instead. He feels Louis’s thumb start a soft back and forth across the other side of his palm, encouraging him to share a little more.

“Some guy discovered I was onto him… figured out where to find me.” Harry recalls, remembering so clearly, the look of pure terror on his mother’s face as she was bound in a vicious headlock with a gun to her head, dragged out of the art gallery right before his eyes.

She won’t talk to him about it to this day. He thinks it’s just to lessen his guilt, because the first thing she assured him after her rescue is that it wasn’t his fault, but she’s also clueless about how genuinely untrue that is.

“I put her in danger, Lou. If she would’ve gotten hurt because of me… because of what I am…”

“You would’ve survived.” Louis tries to be helpful. He doesn’t get it, though. He doesn’t care about his family like Harry cherishes his own. Harry wouldn’t have survived being the one to ruin their lives. The pain is too unbearable to even consider.

“No.” Harry says quietly. “I couldn’t… they’re everything to me. Still, I can’t help who I am, not even for them. Every time I hunt down another kill it’s endangering their lives as much as my own, and I can’t—I still can’t stop.”

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Louis coos, pulling himself closer, letting Harry rest his head on a shoulder while he works to compose himself.

He doesn’t mean it’s alright for Harry to put his parents in that position; he means it’s alright, I’m here. The hand that starts a soothing rub up and down Harry’s back is just the reinforcement he needs.

“I get what you mean.” Louis says after a moment. “The time you threatened Alberto, I felt it too.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry really tries his very best not to let his voice crack.

“You’ve apologized more than enough already. I’m just trying to relate.” Louis dismisses. “To let it consume you like this isn’t good for you, though. Liam and Sophia love you so much, Harry. I’ve seen it, they love you exactly how parents should love their children. Fucked as it sounds, I really believe they could forgive you if anything ever happened to them.”

“No normal person could forgive the things we’ve done.” Harry argues, head still tucked safely into Louis’s personal bubble.

“Now I really think you’re nuts.” Louis teases, “Alberto and Niall are prime examples. They risk their lives to help us, and I know your parents would do the same if it ever came to it.”

Harry’s considered just about every possible scenario for how they’d react to finding out who he really is. Vomit, tears, fear, anger, rejection. He’s never bothered to entertain the idea of acceptance.

He lifts his head, searching for sincerity on Louis’s face.

“You saved Sophia’s life more than once. She could’ve been any one of their eventual targets,” He looks above them to the glittering orbs on the ceiling, “But because of you, she’s safe. And so many other families out there right now get to hang onto their loving mothers too.”

Harry nods, his perspective shifting a little. Maybe in some alternate universe his parents could support him if his secret was ever exposed, but either way at least he’s done some good in protecting them just as much as anyone else. For every killer he’s claimed in his time, that’s hundreds of potential victim’s lives spared. That’s the whole reason he chooses murderers as his targets in the first place.

“So yes, I am going to enjoy it to the best of my ability. Because you’re right that it’s not okay to be who we are, but it doesn’t mean who we are has to be all bad.” Louis says.

“I guess you’re right.” Harry sighs, reaching up to brush part of Louis’s fringe that’s fallen into his eyes away. “There is a lot of nasty people in the world without a drop of blood on their hands.”

“I’ve killed some of them.” Louis chuckles. “Never like this, though. I feel like I owe you thanks, for showing me that there is right and wrong ways to kill. This is definitely a right one.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Harry smiles. “I owe you thanks, for being open to it and not deciding to kill me instead… I never thought I’d have this in my whole life.”

“I’ve been waiting for you all along.” Louis agrees, standing on his toes to bring their lips together.

Harry could get lost in the taste of his tongue and the mush his brain turns to when they’re connected like this. He could kiss Louis all day, every day, till his lungs run out of air and still want more. He must be doing something right with his life to deserve someone as perfectly fitted for him as Louis.

Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Hey kid, how’s it going?” Liam greets.

“Fine, Louis and I were gonna open today, just waiting on you.” Harry says, pulling away from his pouting boyfriend.

“Funny, we’re at home waiting on you.” Liam says. “Forgot about us, did ya?”

And, oh. It did completely slip Harry’s mind that Sophia’s hosting a cookout today. That explains why nobody made the effort to open shop when he and Louis didn’t even get out of bed until past time.

“You’re right, I totally did. Sorry.” Harry quickly apologizes, swatting Louis’s grabby hands away from his bum. “Tell mom we’re on the way, save me some Sangria.”

“Plenty left, but I’ll make sure no one chugs the whole barrel just for you.” Liam laughs, “See you soon.”

“We gotta go put on our normal faces for the crowd.” Harry says once they’ve hung up. He turns off the boiling vat of glass for now. The rest of the process will have to wait till tomorrow morning instead.

“What is normal, anyway?” Louis asks, locking their fingers together as he follows Harry back into the gallery to lock up again. “I imagine most people have some pretty dark secrets in their repertoire, too.”

 

*

 

“Secretly a stripper to pay for all those expensive Uni classes.” Louis nods over to a small group of twenty-something girls gathered by the food table stretched out across half the length of the Payne’s expansive backyard. He means the blonde one in the long sundress, laughing at something her friend just said.

“Louis!” Harry swats him on the arm. “She’s my cousin. I don’t want to think about that.”

“I’m just saying,” Louis shrugs, going on, “Have you ever seen her friends before? Probably met them at the club.”

It’s not as if Harry’s all that close to anyone in his family besides his parents, but Jamie has always been nothing but a complete angel to him. Not that being a stripper is such an awful thing to hide to begin with, but he has a hard time imagining that she has any major secrets of that nature.

“She could just as easily be an honest girl, working hard as a waitress too. Not everyone has such scandalous things going on in their lives.” Harry says.

“That’s exactly what I mean, though. You never know.” Louis hums. “The possibilities are endless.”

Harry mulls that over a moment, sipping on his fruity red wine as he scans the yard from their comfy spot on the lawn chairs off to the side. He settles on a bearded man he’s never seen before, who’s trying way too hard to chat up a recently divorced friend of Sophia’s while she clearly displays the boredom on her face, politely nodding along anyway.

“Forty-year-old virgin.” Harry decides to play along.

Louis laughs, all bright and adorable as the sun glints down across his face in a way that seems to purposely spotlight his beauty.

“I can totally see that, too. Bet he has the action figure collection and everything stashed away in his tiny, one-bedroom apartment.”

“Maybe he’ll meet someone soon who understands his struggle.” Harry hopes, lightly squeezing Louis’s hand where it rests attached to his own.

“Once they get over the awkwardness of his first time, it could be quite beautiful.” Louis nods in agreement.

Their next target is a couple in their thirties maybe; a larger black woman and a tall man of clearly East Asian descent, both of whom Harry’s never met before. The guy seems very clingy towards her, like he’s merely following her lead as she parades him through the party and probably throughout their entire lives, too.

“He wants children and she doesn’t, so they fight a lot. Their marriage is slowly crumbling, but everyone thinks they’re made for each other, based on what they choose to show and what stays hidden.” Louis makes up their tragic back story with ease, tossing back a tiny sip of his Bacardi on the rocks.

“I hope they can figure something out. They do make a nice-looking couple.” Harry comments.

“Probably sleeping with several someones on the side.” Louis nods towards a fair man who’s stood with his arm around his dainty wife’s waist from behind, while also eyeing every young woman who happens to be in range while the wife excitedly chatters among the friends around them.

“Don’t get any ideas.” Harry cautions.

“He’s lucky my attention is otherwise occupied.” Louis says, pursing his lips.

Sophia comes to join them for a little chat, and then she steals Louis away to make his rounds with her. She really wants to introduce him to every one of Harry’s family members and some of her closer friends, too. She’s certainly not made it a secret how absolutely thrilled she is about Harry finally meeting someone, and true to her motherly nature she wants as much a part in it as she can get.

Thankfully socializing comes easy to Louis, so he spends a lot of the afternoon charming his way into the hearts of various people that Harry barely even knows himself. It isn’t as natural for him to blend in with people he hasn’t had time to grow truly comfortable around yet. He finds his safety blankets in Niall who hovers while Liam’s busy grilling, and Harry is more content with the world than he’s ever been in his life.

“Liam, I will never understand how you’ve managed to hang onto a catch like Sophia for so long.” Louis comes out of nowhere some time later, laying a heavy hand on Liam’s shoulder. Sophia laughs, sliding into the empty space next to her husband.

“One of life’s greatest mysteries.” Liam takes the teasing in good-nature, leaning over to kiss Sophia’s cheek as she blushes under the spotlight.

“I mean, you’re alright too, but,” Louis solemnly shakes his head, “Better not take her for granted, ‘cause she is too lovely for words. Could have anyone on earth and yet she chooses your greying haired, goofy smiling self every day. I just don’t get it.”

“Shh, don’t say that in front of her. I don’t think she’s figured out her other options yet.” Liam jokes, tipping his beer back against his lips.

“Oh, you’re both ridiculous. I’ve got everything I need right here.” She smiles, warmly patting Liam’s arm in reassurance. “If we’re talking about who really knows how to pick ‘em, Harry should be getting all the credit here.”

“Swear I wish you’d adopt me too.” Louis says, rounding the circle to lace his arms around Harry’s back from behind.

“That’d make for some awkward family reunions.” Harry jokes, relaxing under the touch of Louis’s fingers as they dance across the front of his sheerly covered tummy.

Niall chugs down nearly half a bottle and dismisses himself after that, clearly biting his tongue with all the rude comments he could make about how much he still disapproves.

“Sorry.” Louis whispers against the shell of Harry’s ear, knowing he’s the reason for Niall’s aversion.

“S’okay,” Harry mumbles back, turning his head to the side for a quick kiss. “He’s being a baby. Clearly, you’re more than welcome here any time.”

“He’s your best friend. I really hate to come between you guys like this.” Louis says, softly nuzzling his nose on Harry’s cheek. “You’re just too cute to stay away from.”

“My fault.” Harry says, “You’re the one that’s impossible to resist.”

“Oh! Speaking of teaching,” Liam remembers, drifting back into the conversation again, “Harry, have you met Caroline yet? She’s the new hire.”

Harry was unaware that there even was a new employee, but it makes sense. His schedule’s kind of been filled with things other than work and ‘play’ for once. Another person to put on a show for, as far as Harry’s concerned.

“I think I met her. Short woman, dark, adorable little girl on her hip all day?” Louis asks.

“That’s the one. You should introduce yourself if you see her, H.” Liam encourages, “Get familiar, you know. You’ll be working closely sometimes, so Soph and I can have some time off every now and then too.”

“Let’s go find her,” Louis says, raising his brows at Harry in a way that tells how he really just wants to sneak off for some alone time. Harry is all on board with that, grinning as the two of them excuse themselves, waiting until his parents have diverted their attention enough for Harry and Louis to sneak into the house and shut the door behind them.

 

*

 

In the kitchen they happen upon a woman with long, pastel purple hair digging around in the freezer. When she turns around to plop a couple of ice cubes to drop into her drink, Harry recognizes her instantly.

Strangely enough, considering it’s been more than a decade since they’ve seen each other, but her lips stretch into an equally dimpled smile when she sees him. The big, warm eyes that Harry always used to look to for comfort, and that perfectly crafted face that he always saw as a prettier, more feminine version of his own.

“Gemma,” He breathes, stunned into total incoherence.

She’s grown so much after all this time, but Harry couldn’t possibly mistake her for anyone else. It’s like a magnetic pull, the connection that faded after so many years apart now thrumming back to life to confirm that sibling blood bond between them.

“So you haven’t completely forgotten me.” She says, her face melting into something cautious friendliness. “Nice to see you again, baby bro.”

He has so many questions bouncing around in his head that he can’t even pick one to ask first. _Where have you been? How have you been? How did you find me? What are you doing here? Why do I get the very distinct feeling that you’re not the sister I once knew?_

Louis takes it upon himself to decide. “Did she just call you baby bro? As in, little brother? Like, you have a sister?”

“You don’t talk about me.” Gemma gathers, pouting her bottom lip out in a frown. “That’s disappointing. I mean, I get it though. I don’t talk about you or mom anymore either.”

“Your birth mother who died when you were young?” Louis asks.

“For all intents and purposes, yeah.” Gemma shrugs.

Harry’s brain is just frazzled, trying to process and catch up enough to actually say something for himself.

“Haz, where are you right now?” Louis brings him back to some sort of clarity by reaching up to rub the back of his neck, grounding him to a familiar comfort.

“I’m—just…” He blinks, giving the both of them a weak, blanket apology for all his lies.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, still adjusting to the shock of his estranged sister appearing so unexpectedly in his parent’s kitchen, much less everything else happening so fast.

“Who’s this, by the way?” Gemma nods at Louis.

“My, um… Louis. This is Louis. He’s my boyfriend.” Harry says.

“Am I?” Louis’s lips slowly turn into a smile. “First time you’ve said that out loud.”

“No, I’m sure it can’t be.” Harry furls his brows. He definitely _thinks_ of Louis as his boyfriend.

“It is. I would’ve remembered.” Louis grins, swaying against him to nudge his shoulder with a coy look.

“How cute. So glad I showed up just in time to witness this beautiful moment.” Gemma rolls her eyes in blatant sarcasm, chugging down a bit of the Sangria in her newly chilled glass.

That effectively snaps Harry back to some kind of alertness. “What are you doing here?”

“You don’t seem very happy to see me.” Gemma frowns. “And after all this time. I thought you might have missed me a little.”

Harry has missed her, but not this version of her. He doesn’t know the person standing in front of him at all.

He knows the little girl who used to hold him and shush his tears whenever mom got a little too angry and unavailable. The girl who always beat him in hopscotch, jump rope, skip-it, and every other game they played in the yard back when Harry was still too clumsy for his own two feet. The hardened teenager who kissed him on the forehead and promised they’d find each other again someday, when Harry was torn from the adoption center without her.

The woman standing before him doesn’t resemble that little girl at all. Harry’s not even close to being the same person he was back then, so there’s no way in hell that she could’ve managed to remain innocent after all these years, either.

“Because I have no idea why you’re here.” He says, protectively pulling Louis a little closer to his side.

“I missed you.” She says simply. “Thought it was about time I followed through on my word.”

“Why?” Harry presses. “Why now? How did you get in here? Do Liam and Sophia know?”

“You’re the first one I’ve seen today. It’s not as if it was hard to just walk into the big open yard and blend in with everyone else.” She shrugs. “Seems like you’ve got it made here in your new life… No wonder you try so hard to run from the past.”

“Exactly.” Harry emphasizes. There’s no way she could’ve survived all the trauma they’ve been through without some kind of her own repercussions, and not knowing what they are or what this is all about has him in defense mode.

“Shall we get back to the party and do some catching up, then?” Gemma suggests, leading the way out to the yard as if she’s been around long enough to accommodate herself however she pleases. “It is a family cookout, right? So I should be just as welcome as anyone.”

Except she’s not.

Harry’s not sure what else he can do though. He has to keep an eye on her, and telling Liam and Sophia would probably only make them want to include her. They used to pressure him to make the effort to contact to her sometime, but this isn’t something Harry’s felt ready to deal with so far. All of a sudden it’s looking like he has no choice.

“If you don’t want to involve me in your old family business, I’ll leave.” Louis offers, always so thoughtful and attentive to Harry’s needs. Not even slightly angry about the fact that Harry lied and hid this from him for so long, just a bit confused by the random introduction.

“No. I want you here, always.” Harry assures, taking a deep breath and entwining their fingers again as he follows Gemma through the sliding glass door, back to the achingly contrasting festivities outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos give me life. Love y'all, love to hear your thoughts too :*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Harry and Louis talked about their kill, Liam and Sophia threw a party where Gemma showed up out of the blue with no explanation as to why.
> 
>  
> 
> *This: // means we are in a flashback to past times and this: \\\ marks the end of it.

Gemma mingles around the party, smiling and making conversation with basically everyone Harry’s ever known throughout his life in Miami. He overhears her introduction to some of his relatives as “an old friend of Harry’s”, so at least he doesn’t have to deal with prying questions yet. He’d have no idea where to even start.

Sophia is the only one sharp enough to point out the resemblance between them, and Gemma sports a sly smile in response as she sips from her glass, letting Harry squirm in the awkward moment.

She’s careful not to allow for even two minutes of alone time, so Harry wastes the rest of the evening keeping up the façade, holding Louis close to his side as they refuse to let her out of their line of vision.

“Think you should look into her?” Louis whispers for only Harry to hear.

“I don’t know… she doesn’t seem dangerous so far.” Harry says, watching her face light up with laughter at something one of Sophia’s friends said to her. She’s not intimidating anyone or trying to make a scene; just harmlessly enjoying the sunny afternoon like everybody else.

“To you.” Louis says.

“I should give her a chance to explain herself.” Harry decides. “She is still my sister. Just a lot different than the one I remember.”

“Okay.” Louis drops the subject, but he tilts his glass to his lips for a long sip of straight liquor.

When sunset begins to clear everyone out, Liam lights a bonfire in the pit of the yard for closer circle to sit around and chat for longer. Gemma says her goodbyes then, pulling each of Harry’s parents in for a hug as she thanks them for hosting. It seems like she’s just doing it to taunt Harry, especially when she looks right at him over Sophia’s shoulder and smiles in feigned innocence.

She hasn’t actually made herself into a threat so far, but not having any knowledge about how she’s been or why she’s bugging Harry after all this time only increases his nerves by the minute. Maybe doing some research on her wouldn’t be the worst idea.

“Follow me.” He leans down to the window of Gemma’s car while she idles in the driveway.

“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be right now.” She shrugs.

So Harry can gather that she doesn’t live in Miami, which just brings up a whole other set of questions like where is she staying, and why go through all the trouble of getting here only to harass Harry’s family for no apparent reason?

The drive to his house feels like ages. Louis must be able to tell how wound up he is because he keeps stealing side glances and doesn’t have much to say by way of comfort. It’s okay though, just having him around lulls Harry into a manageable state of anxiety. At least he didn’t end up calling her out in front of everyone, which might have been more likely to happen if not for him having someone else to distract part of his attention all day.

 

*

 

“Looks like the surgery was a success.” Gemma says as the three of them walk through the door to Harry’s home. He’d really rather not have her here so soon, but it seemed like the most private option short of bringing her to the studio kill room.

“Huh?” Harry quirks his head to the side. “What surgery?”

“The one to attach you two at the hip.” She leads the way to the living room and plops herself comfortably down on Harry’s couch, stretching her legs out along the length of it.

“If you’d rather talk to me alone, there’s nicer ways to ask than that.” Harry retorts.

“Nice has never really been my specialty.” Gemma says. The way her eyes have locked onto Louis screams nothing but unwelcome.

“I should get home anyway. It’s been a long day, and you two are clearly in need of some serious sibling bonding time.” Louis dismisses himself, standing on his toes to give Harry’s cheek a quick kiss before he goes.

He’s teasing, Harry gets that, but the fact that this is the most ‘bonding time’ he’s had with his sister since their traumatic younger years stirs a wistful longing inside him for simpler days. Then a deeper emptiness at what it says about him that those were his simpler days.

He hooks a finger through the belt of Louis’s shorts and pulls him towards the door, torn between keeping him close for as long as possible and having a night to maybe get to know the last of his old family again.

“You’ll be alright here without me?” Louis presses himself into Harry’s body heat, running a finger along the collar of his shirt.

“Should be fine, I’m pretty good at looking out for myself too, ya know.” Harry says. “I can’t imagine she’d ever try to hurt me though.”

“There is a way to find out…” He side-eyes the room where Gemma waits, staring at the ceiling as she absently twirls her royal hair in boredom.

“I don’t background check everyone who comes into my life, Lou.” Harry hesitates.

“Maybe you should start.” Louis suggests. “We don’t know where she came from, why she’s here, what she’s even capable of… I’m just saying this is one case where it might be wise to tread carefully.”

“I’ll miss you.” Harry deflects the subject again as he leans in to brush his nose against the crook of Louis’s neck.

“Oh, one night apart probably won’t kill us.” Now it’s Louis’s turn to roll his eyes, though he tilts his head back to give Harry better access to kiss wherever he pleases.

“Probably.” Harry notices the joke.

“We’ll be fine.” Louis says, maybe more to reassure himself at this point. He cups Harry’s face between his hands to move his head for a proper kiss.

“You’ll be fine.” He adds for good measure.

“See you tomorrow?” Harry plans ahead for the very long future they definitely have together.

“See you tomorrow… boyfriend.” Louis smiles, finally breaking away to reach for the door.

Harry finger waves him outside, watching for a moment until he gets in his car and drives off, leaving just the Styles kids alone together for the first time in almost fifteen years.

It suddenly hits him that he’s lived even less of his life knowing her than he has without her.

Maybe this could be a good thing after all.

 

*

 

“First night apart since the honeymoon?” Gemma tries to joke when Harry returns to the living room.

“What was all that about?” He sighs, avoiding her attempt at familiarity right off the bat. “Why are you so interested in my family all of a sudden?”

“Just wanted to have some fun for a while.” She says. “I didn’t expect to find you in the middle of a party, but it would’ve been a shame to waste it rehashing the details of my tragically unfortunate life since that day, don’t you agree?”

 

//

His mom snuck into his bedroom once, somewhere ambiguously between the cover of nightfall and the rising morning sun. Harry blinked his groggy eyes open to her seated on his bed, petting his springy curls as she marveled at him. Her tired eyes were always the same no matter what time of day, jet black hair piercing through the already darkened space, and her soft but deadly hands nothing but a familiar comfort.

“Hey, pumpkin.” She cooed, smiling him into drowsy alertness. She only ever visited him like this when there was something troubling her.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked quietly.

“Nothing’s wrong, baby. Just wanted to see you for a minute.” She said, leaning her face down to kiss the top of his head.

They just sat in silence for a while, lulled into placidity by the warmth of each other for so long that Harry’s eyes slowly started to droop shut again. Eventually, he yawned and snuggled further down under his covers.

“Harry, I need you to do something for me, okay?” She asked before he could doze off for good.

“Yeah?” He mumbled through his half-sleep. Anything for her.

“I just need you to be brave.” She said. “Remember everything I told you, including that I love you. Just be brave and strong and do what you have to do, okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded, barely with the brain capacity to comprehend the weight behind her words. Still, he wanted to do his best and hold onto her words like she asked. “Be brave. Remember what you said.”

“Take care of your sister, too. She needs you more than ever.” His mom added. “And don’t let her forget that I love her too. I love you both so much.”

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked again. It sounded like she was saying goodbye. Was it just a really weird dream he was having?

“Nothing’s wrong sweetheart, I’m just a bit emotional tonight.” She assured him again, so Harry didn’t worry. Too tired to worry.

 

The next morning there were police in their front yard. Through the view from his bedroom window, Harry counted five. They filed out, armed with weapons and ready to strike on the offense if needed. He understood what was happening before they even rang the bell. He was surprised that they were so calm about it; probably should’ve charged right in and tackled his mom to the ground before she could try to get away.

 _Remember what I said,_ her voice rang in his ears as he ran down the stairs to confront the scene up close.

 _I love you, just be brave and strong, okay?_ As the officers cuffed her, explained that she was under arrest.

 _Take care of your sister, she needs you more than ever,_ As Gemma panicked and ran outside after their mom, yelling in hysterics while Anne was read her rights and stuffed into the back seat of a cruiser.

“Mom, what the fuck is going on? What’s happening? What did you do?”

Harry watched from the doorstep as Gemma struggled, pressing her face close to the car window.

Their mother was smart enough not to confess to anything without a lawyer present, so the only thing she said was, “It’ll be alright, Gem. Stay with your brother.”

“Please! Mom! Please!” Gemma begged. Harry could hear the tears in her voice. “What’s happening right now? This isn’t real!”

 _I love you both so much,_ as Harry watched an officer try to escort Gemma away from the car.

She screamed and yanked herself away, pounding her fist against the man’s chest in protest. It took two of them to restrain her enough to drag her back towards the house, where a man asked a frozen and blank shell of the kid that Harry used to be if they had anyone else to look after them for now.

 _Do what you have to do,_ as Harry stared at the back of the squad car where his mother sat while it drove off down the street.

His whole life completely flipped upside down. His mentor torn from him. The only person he could ever talk about what he is with, his only connection to maybe someday having a knife in his own hand, the only honest guidance and support he’s ever had, ripped away so suddenly. She didn’t even properly warn him. He trusted her way to keep them safe and free forever.

Now what?

\\\

 

“No.” Harry says anyway, shaking off the memories to focus on Gemma’s past instead, not his or theirs. “Please, just tell me why you came here.”

She doesn’t answer for a few moments, just staring back as he hovers above her like she’s trying to process just as much as he is.

“I guess I need a place to stay for a while.” She finally blurts, and that’s about as far from what he expected as possible. He’d secretly hoped it would be something simple, like maybe she’s managed to recover enough to live a normal life and genuinely just came here to reconnect after so long. But expecting anything in his life to ever be easy or normal is a silly notion in itself.

“So you decided to track down your long lost brother, rather than going to your own family for help instead?” Harry asks.

“You are my family.” Gemma reminds him. “I get that you have more than just me now, but that doesn’t make us any less related either.”

“I’m just trying to understand why you’d want to ask me for help before anyone else.” Harry says.

“There isn’t anyone else left.” Gemma begs with her eyes. “Some of us weren’t so lucky to be adopted by someone like the Perfect fucking Paynes.”

“You never had a family after me and… Anne?” Harry asks. He can’t bring himself to call her mom anymore, she isn’t. Even her name hasn’t been said in so long it feels just as weird getting stuck on his tongue.

“No one wants to bring a mentally fucked fifteen year old girl into their lives when there’s a million easier options to pick from.” Gemma avoids eye contact now, voice softening as her attention drops to the floor beneath his feet.

He relaxes into the loveseat across the coffee table and lets out a deep sigh. Gemma, staying at his house, where he’s grown accustomed to the amount of privacy living on his own provides. He’d have to hide so much from her, tangle himself even deeper in his sticky web of lies to protect her from the truth. It’s probably best for her own good if she doesn’t stay… but it’d be a lie if he denied putting his own needs as priority.

“Where have you been all this time?” He asks.

He can tell already that she prefers to downplay everything in an attempt to lessen the severity of its weight on her mind. She shrugs before starting her story, “After you left, I just bounced around to different homes until I finally turned 18 and had to fend for myself.”

_Take care of your sister, she needs you more than ever._

His stomach drops, imagining his once beloved sister cold and alone for all those years. He’s never wished for a rewind button so much in all his life.

He’d go back to when Liam and Sophia first took him in, beg them to help him find her and give her the love she deserved. Maybe stop himself from walking into Anne’s room the night it got into him, because ever since then it’s felt like everything that happens around him is somehow his fault. All the lies he told to keep their shared secret have led to nothing but more bad news. Maybe if he would’ve spoken to the police before they were tipped off, Gemma would’ve still been young and cute enough for a family to want to call her their own someday.

He should’ve done something different. Anything besides numbing himself to the past in an attempt to pretend none of it was even real. It was, and he should’ve done more to keep her close when they still needed each other to lean on.

It’s too late to change anything now, so he just listens to her talk, trying to remember who’s really at fault here. If their mother hadn’t been who she was to begin with, neither one of them would still be trying so hard to pick up the pieces of their lives since her arrest.

“I, um… did what I had to, to survive.” Gemma says, swallowing the visible lump in her throat as she glosses over it, “And then I met a guy who wasn’t so bad. He was nice, actually. Treated me well. Wanted to take care of me. So I let him.”

“Better than the alternative.” Harry nods, understanding. Trauma after trauma, heartache after heartache, struggle after struggle. Such is life.

“Way better.” She agrees, “We were happy for a long time. Got married, had kids. Two girls, Maya and Alicia. They reminded me terribly of you for some reason, just the sweetest little angels. I loved them so much, Harry. I never thought I could…”

She clears her throat, blinking back the wetness dewing up her eyes.

“They’d be about six now.” Her voice has gone soft as she loses herself in memory.

He had nieces. Adorable, innocent children, pure and untouched by the depth of evil that exists in the world. He wonders what they looked like. How they behaved. Tried on _Uncle Harry_ for size. He’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to live up to it, but although he never got the chance to meet them, he knows without a doubt he’d have done all he could to try.

It’s so unfair that the universe keeps playing with them like this, dragging them back and forth between misery and disappointment with only little tastes of the good life here and there.

“I don’t know what happened.” She finally says, back into the moment. “Sometimes it was hard for him to deal with… the mental stuff. I haven’t been okay ever since mom. He used to be patient with me, but I guess he just reached his limit. He finally told me he couldn’t do it anymore.”

Harry could say how sorry he is, but it feels so lame and empty compared to all the shit she’s been through. She doesn’t seem to be looking for sympathy anyway. He can only think of one way to truly make it up to her, and that’s by giving her all the support she so desperately needs.

“He was a lawyer, and a damn good one at that, so it wasn’t hard for him to convince the courts that I was an unfit mother, especially with the PTSD and hospital stays under my belt.” Gemma says.

“I haven’t seen him or my babies in a few months now. The restraining order makes sure of it.”

Harry’s not usually about killing anyone who hasn’t killed for themselves, but the anger toward her husband bubbles up inside him all the same.

“Anyway, a while back, I asked him to find you.” She says, once again brushing it all under the rug. Everyone has their own unique way of coping. Avoidance must be hers.

“I figured now’s as good a time as any to suck it up and see how you’ve been doing. I mean, I could’ve kept hopping around to motels until I found my own place, but I guess I just wanted to feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m not the only one.”

“To know you’re not alone in the world. Somebody understands.” Harry nods in contribution, feeling that same hollowness he lived with all those years until he met Louis. His somebody who understands.

“When did you become so dark and brooding, by the way? What have you even got to complain about anymore?” She asks, offended by not being able to find anything wrong with Harry’s life from the outside.

“It hasn’t been such a walk in the park for me either, Gem.” The ancient nickname slips right out like habit.

“Yeah, your cushy little fairy tale life seems like such a burden.” She rolls her eyes.

He wants to tell her. For the first time in his life, he actually wants to share the gruesome tale of his monster, from how it got started and grew to become what it is today, how he spends his life terrified it could all fall apart at any minute, still not being able to control the urge.

He resists because even with all she’s been through, nobody in their right mind would have a sane reaction to finding out someone they care about (or used to) is actually a murderous villain they never actually knew to begin with. Especially not his sister, who’s already suffered enough. She might not even be able to survive the knowledge that Harry’s been living a lie for as long as he can remember.

“You can stay.” He decides, avoiding the accusation. “It’s just me here and there’s no spare room, but the couch pulls out into a bed, so it can be your space for now.”

“Really?” Gemma’s whole face delights. Clearly she wasn’t expecting to get an actual yes out of him, but going into this, that’s not really the outcome he expected either.

“Yes, really. You’re welcome for as long as you need to get back on your feet.” Harry offers, “But just so you’re aware, Louis sleeps over a lot. So no more rudeness.”

“Are the walls soundproof at least?” She jokes.

Harry is scandalized. He hardly knows her; no way is he ready to even entertain the idea of discussing his sex life yet. Not to mention she’s his sister so it’s none of her business anyway.

“Jesus, Gem.” He grumbles. “There won’t be any noise to wake you.”

“None at all? How boring.” She laughs, “What do you guys do all night, play Monopoly? Do you win, at least? You never were very good at that game.”

“If you can’t keep your nose out of my private life, you’re welcome to check into another motel instead.” He snaps, hoisting himself up to head towards the kitchen for any sort of getaway from this increasingly uncomfortable subject. He barely even talks about it with Louis yet, and that’s a whole other can of worms that’s staying locked shut for now.

Gemma follows him, leaning against the door frame while he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Can you drop the tough guy act and just be my little brother again for like five minutes? Please?”

When Harry shuts the door and looks back at her, she’s gone all soft and delicate minus the brows furled together in distress. She does miss him, apparently. He kind of misses her too.

_Take care of her, she needs you…_

It’s inevitable for there to be some kind of weirdness around each other, but he wishes it were just easy. Things will never be quite like the days of painted nails and scary stories whispered between them through the dark during bedroom sleepovers, but maybe if they both work at it, some sense of normalcy can be restored. As much as possible around the permanent barrier of secrets between them, anyway.

“Want me to make us hot cocoa and put in Grease for movie night?” He says. She always loved his hot chocolate better than when she made it herself because Harry’s so careful with everything he does that it always comes out just right.

Her mouth stretches into a real smile, cheeks dimpling at the same memories running through his head; the two of them cuddled underneath the roof of their blanket forts in the living room with their tiny hands clutched around a mug each, dueting Summer Loving and other classics from their collection of musical VHS tapes.

“And Mary Poppins next?” She beams.

 

*

 

The next morning, Harry walks into a gallery full of smoke and a petite older woman with long dreaded hair, who’s busy guiding a burning stick of sage around the room.

“What is going on in here?” He coughs, waving his hand around to clear the stuff from his space.

“This place is riddled with negative energy. I asked Sophia if it was alright to give it a nice cleanse before we open up today.” She explains, still traveling the edge of the building to spread the stink around. She doesn’t introduce herself, but Harry can safely assume this must be the Caroline his parents mentioned yesterday.

“You must be Harry.” She guesses, pausing nearby to evaluate him from head to toe.

“You must be Caroline.” Harry acknowledges.

“Don’t take this wrong way, kid, but your aura is pure bad vibes. Scary bad.” She steps closer to lean in for a better examination. “Like, holy shit. No wonder it’s so foul in here. Have you been messing with a Ouija board? Do you live on haunted grounds? Any super traumatic events happen to you at some point in life?”

“I, um…” He doesn’t know how to properly respond to that without tipping her off. She’s not wrong.

Harry’s never been one to believe in much beyond the physical world, but the fact that she can sense there’s something off about him with just one look tickles his nerves in a difficult way.

“My apologies, I don’t mean to pry.” She backs out of his personal bubble. She waves the slow-burning stick of incense around as she orbits his body, apparently trying to cleanse his soul or whatever.

“It’s, um… okay…” He says, figuring now his chance to dismiss any of her suspicions about him before they get too out of hand. “I don’t really want to go into detail, but… uh. My mother wasn’t a nice person. My birth mother. So maybe that could have something to do with it?”

“Absolutely.” Caroline nods, latching onto the excuse with ease. “A troubled home life is bound to follow a person around for a long time. Oh, you poor thing.”

She flits over to the checkout counter, digging around in the drawer underneath the desk for something. Good to see she’s already made herself at home.

“I meant to give each of you one of these as a precaution anyway, but now I’m concerned you may need more than just this.” She beckons him down to her level. He hesitates from a moment, but leans over for her to slip a necklace around his head anyway.

“This has specific healing power to clear the negative energy from your aura and protect you against further absorption.” She explains. “Your parents got smoky quartz, but I came prepared with something a bit stronger too. Bloodstone seems like a good fit for you. Still, I recommend stopping by my place sometime for a more thorough cleansing as well.”

“Bloodstone.” Harry repeats, testing it on his tongue, reaching up to feel at the ugly little green rock dangling from his neck. That name sounds like it was made just for him. “Sick.”

“Yeah yeah, it’s all very cool and mystical in theory,” She talks with her hands apparently, “But I’m serious about that, so please be careful. Take it easy, try to relax. It’s a miracle you haven’t spontaneously combusted from stress already.”

She might be rather invasive about it, but he’s not entirely opposed to the idea of doing whatever it takes to quell her worries. He shrugs, promising to come visit her on his next day off for a good enlightening soul-cleanse or whatever.

“So you’re like a witch or something?” Harry asks. “Can you do magic, too?”

“Yes, but probably not the way you’re imagining.” She says, setting the remaining bit of sage in a bowl to continue burning out on the desk. “I can’t just wave my fingers and make things happen. Magick doesn’t work without the right tools and ingredients, knowing how to harness your energy to direct it towards the outcome you want.”

“But you can like, say spells to make stuff happen right? You’ve seen it?” He asks. If there even is a spell to cure someone of their darkness, it certainly can’t hurt to look into.

“Sure. Spells are mostly for beginners, though. Like training wheels.” She says. “I’ve been doing it long enough that I hardly need them anymore, except in extreme cases… I might need to come up with something special for you, actually. You’re even making me nervous.”

“Oh good, you two are getting along.” Sophia smiles proudly from where she’s coming in through the studio after setting up for opening time. “Isn’t Caroline the coolest? Did you get a crystal, too?”

She digs hers out from where it’s fallen down her shirt to compare it to Harry’s.

“Bloodstone.” Harry smiles wickedly, showing it off next to his mother’s. “Apparently I have an extra bad aura, so I need twice as much help.”

“Do not let him forget to come see me soon.” Caroline sternly tells Sophia. “We all need to get on the right path or your energies will just keep feeding off each other and there’ll be no chance at reviving this place at all.”

 

**

 

Louis knows it’s only been a night and a day since he’s seen Harry. It was a nice day, really. He took the truck out with Alberto to get some honest work done. Made a small profit, even though half their stock is usually free handouts anyway. A little family told him thank you and the little boy cried as Louis gave them an armful of meals, telling them to be safe and come by his truck any time they can. Louis felt like a hero in an entirely different way, and it was all a great distraction from the anxiety snowballing in him the longer he has to be without Harry.

He’s had enough experience with his gut being absolutely right to know that his judgement of Gemma is not misguided.

Louis doesn’t want to be the one to burst his bubble, but Harry, the guy who’s usually so careful around everyone he meets, who barely lets his best friend hang out at his house and won’t even eat his own boyfriend’s food because he doesn’t think he’ll survive it, seems to have thrown all his rules out the window for the sake of getting to know his sister again.

So maybe Louis is a little jealous at the ease by which she slipped her way into his life when he’s still working on wearing Harry down so many months later, but it’s not just about that. As he listens to Harry retell the story she fed him about why she’s come back so suddenly, everything inside him is screaming that something is very terribly wrong about all of it.

“Nothing about this seems fishy to you?” He asks, sitting crisscross on Harry’s bed while Harry faces him the same way.

Through the closed bedroom door, Gemma can be heard shuffling things around in the kitchen as if purposely trying to remind them that she’s still there. Probably listening through the walls, even.

“I don’t find it hard to believe that she’s been through a lot.” Harry says. “So have I.”

“It just all sounds a little too sob story-ish.” Louis says. “Of course she has an explanation for everything. We have explanations for everything, too. People who have things to hide always figure out how to cover their asses.”

“Our whole lives are sob stories, Lou.” Harry argues. “If I’d told her the whole truth about my history, I’m sure it’d sound like some crazy made-up for sympathy shit too.”

“Can’t very well agree or disagree with that now, can I?” Louis refutes. He doesn’t know much about Harry’s family history either, except that he has a sister he used to be close with and a mother he never wants to talk about. And that’s only after having it forced out of him by way of being cornered.

“You’ll just have to trust me on this.” Harry reaches for Louis’s hand in his lap, to cradle it and kiss the back of his palm. “Please try not to be so suspicious. I want you to get to know her, too.”

“I’m worried.” Louis leans forward to press his forehead against Harry’s in comfort. “I’ll do my best to keep an open mind, but I’m still going to be a concerned boyfriend until it feels safe. I can’t help it.”

“Trying is all I ask.” Harry splits them apart to kiss the space between Louis’s brows. “Thank you.”

“It might help me to understand better… where you come from.” He tries, delicately probing for a weak spot. “Why you’re so sure it makes sense for her to be so haunted by it.”

Harry hesitates, pulling further away, closing in on himself again. Louis kind of expected that, but at least this time he doesn’t completely change the subject.

“Do you want to tell me about your family?” He asks, knowing Louis doesn’t like to share much about that either. They’re here now, together, and that should be more than enough.

Louis wants all of him though. He wants to dive into Harry headfirst and never come up for air, build his life around that swishy hair and those cautious eyes, make his home in the sound of booming laughter and hushed words mumbled in the dead of night through Harry’s distressed sleep.

Dangerous as that mindset is, he doesn’t want to remember what life was like before it. He’s had enough yelling, fighting, and hurting. He tried so hard to squelch those flashbacks down to the deepest trench within him. It’s only counterproductive and useless at best to dig them up and air them out again.

“My father owned a chain of banks, actually. Raked in the millions every month.” He starts off the top of his head, “My mother: the perfect PTA mum. Always so present and involved in everything we do. My sisters and I were all involved in extracurriculars and headed for greatness.”

Harry’s leaning forward with eyes widened like he can’t believe Louis would delve so much, so easily. He makes it a little easier to catch on by continuing, “Then one day my father cheated on her and ruined our family, so I snapped and killed him and—”

“You’re joking.” He realizes, pushing lightly against Louis’s arm to stop the ridiculous tale.

“It would be a perfect explanation for why I am the way I am though, huh?” Louis muses, smirk spreading over his mouth. Truthfully, the real abusive broken home he came from seems far more clichéd than anything he could spin at a moment’s notice. “See how easy that was?”

“I’m doing the right thing here, Louis.” Harry says again, softer this time. He really, truly believes it. Louis has to do the good boyfriend thing and support him. “She’s my sister and she needs me. I can’t just turn my back on her.”

“Just proving a point.” Louis says neutrally now, dropping the subject that clearly isn’t getting them anywhere.

“Come here and kiss me instead… I missed you.”

Harry cracks a smile, unfolding his legs to pull Louis right on top of him. Louis happily straddles Harry’s waist, leaning down to taste the lips that drive him mad. Whether Harry is talking, smiling, pressing them together in hardened concentration, mashing them against Louis’s in mirrored desperation, and especially sucking around Louis’s dick like his life depends on it, Louis stays helplessly fixated.

Those thoughts lead him to dirtier places, so he threads his fingers in Harry’s hair, lightly running through it, grabbing the roots and pulling Harry’s head back to trail his kisses elsewhere.

Behind Harry’s ear always gets him a soft breath as he curls into his shoulder to avoid his ticklish spot. In contrast, when Louis nips at the edge of Harry’s jawline he sighs, fluttering his eyes shut like he’s lost in the clouds somewhere far away. When Louis grinds his hips down towards Harry’s pants, going even further with his mouth to suck at a spot on the side of Harry’s neck, he gets a groan that sounds like begging him not to ever stop.

It goes on too long, though, this hungry kissing and slow dry humping. Eventually it devolves to syrupy appreciation rather than a spreading wildfire. Louis whines internally as his cock strains against his zipper, meanwhile Harry’s got nothing out of the ordinary going on with his own, despite that Louis’s glorious bum is currently squished on top of it.

“Problem?” He asks, biting Harry’s ear lobe between his teeth and pulling, loving the way Harry worms underneath him.

“I don’t—I can’t—” Form proper sentences, apparently. Which, Louis doesn’t blame him for that. If there were any possible way to give himself this kind of friction from his own backside, he would’ve long since figured it out.

“Not enough for you?” Louis asks into his skin, still swirling his hips slowly against Harry’s crotch. “Maybe a full-on lap dance would be more motivating.”

Harry groans, sucking in an agonizing breath at just the thought.

“Could strip for you right here, let you watch me move,” Louis drawls, kissing slowly down the length of Harry’s neck again. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

“I don’t know,” Harry growls this time, frustrated at his own body for not matching the lust he feels inside. He reaches around to grab at Louis’s bum, squeezing and kneading through his jeans, pushing him back and forth to direct the pressure for himself. “You’re so—fucking—it should be enough.”

“Shh, it’s alright. Let me help.” Louis soothes him, whispering against Harry’s pulsing vein as he reaches between them to fit his hand under the waistband of Harry’s jeans. Mini Harry is still very much not having it, even when Louis spits into his hand and wraps his slicked palm around the limp length of it, tugging a little for some closer friction.

“This isn’t helping. Too embarrassing.” Harry groans in actual pain this time, letting his head fall back as he squeezes his eyes shut to hide from the light of day.

Louis chuckles softly. “Don’t be embarrassed. Sometimes it just won’t listen.”

He still isn’t ready to give up though, so he flicks his thumb over the slit at the tip and Harry’s mouth falls open, letting out a breath that says how much he truly wishes it would.

“Do I need to cover myself in blood again or what?” He’s getting a bit frustrated, but Harry’s dick finally twitches a little. He bites down on his bottom lip like blood is exactly what he’s trying to draw from it, and just as Louis is about to explore that thought a little more, Gemma yells to them through the walls.

“Harry! Come see what I did!” She sounds excited.

Like he was just waiting for some kind of out to free him from the horrible threat of the cute, horny boyfriend straddled over him, Harry practically shoves Louis to the side.

“Be right there! Just a second!” He yells back, buttoning his jeans.

“Sorry, um. We should go.” He says, looking down from where he sits against the bed frame. Louis just lies next to him, completely frozen with shock at this unheard-of level of rejection.

“Don’t sound so torn up about it.” He snaps.

In all the many times he’s fooled around with someone to get what he wants or otherwise, none have ever denied him in the heat of the moment, much less looked so hurried to escape from it either. He really must be losing his touch. That’s a scary thought to have, seeing as he’s only twenty-eight and still counting on getting better with age.

“I just don’t want to keep her waiting. It’s rude.” Harry says. Louis’s jaw hangs open at the absurdity of his reasoning.

“Sure, sure, it’s fine.” He says, “God forbid you neglect your sister for five minutes to attend to the beautiful man throwing himself on your lap, right?”

Harry looks like he wants to argue that, but he quickly shuts his mouth again, defaulting to his profession of swerving around any subject he ever doesn’t want to address.

“Are you going to join me?” He asks instead, sliding off the bed to put some real space between them as he heads for the door.

“Give me a minute to settle down.” Louis says curtly, lifting his hips up to draw Harry’s eyes towards the hardness still bulging the front of his jeans.

“Right. Um, okay.” Harry nods awkwardly, disappearing from the room, honestly leaving Louis with his blue balls all because his precious damaged sister managed to steal his attention.

He tries to be accepting of all of Harry’s odd little quirks and strange behaviors, but this is something beyond Louis’s accustomed capabilities. He’s always been like a shy teenager with the sex thing, but it was so hot and good the night he killed in front of him that he’d thought they were past it now.

He sighs, thinking of things like naked grandmas and piles of garbage being thrown into dumpsters to tame his boner down. He could’ve taken care of it himself, but that mood effectively fizzled out once Harry ran screaming into a woman’s arms anyway.

 

The two of them are sitting at the dining room table when Louis joins ina few minutes later. They’ve got plates of what looks like a yellow version of mashed potato casserole or something equally horrific sitting in front of them, and Louis watches closely as Harry spoons a bite of the concoction into his mouth without hesitation.

“Hey, Louis.” Gemma smiles at him, probably ordered by Harry to play nice today. “Want some mac and cheese?”

_Absolutely not ever in a million years._

“Maybe. How is it, Harry?” Louis stares daggers into the side of his head.

“Good. A little mushy, but cheesy enough.” Harry says around a mouthful.

“Better than mine?” Louis presses, irked by the fact that Harry will shovel a terribly botched attempt at an acceptable meal into his mouth with ease, yet won’t even consider touching any of the gourmet quality dishes Louis keeps trying to feed him.

Harry stops, staring up from his seat at the table as it clicks in his head.

“Not quite.” He says, like he’s actually able to give an honest comparison.

“Sorry it’s not up to your standards.” Gemma teases, stuffing her own face full of cheesy noodles as she goes on, “My ex used to do all the cooking in our house, but I’m trying to be more independent. So at least it’s edible, I guess.”

“Louis is a professional chef.” Harry praises, “Maybe he can pass on a few recipes to you, huh Lou?”

“That would be great, I’d love to learn from a pro.” Gemma beams.

“Sure. I’ve got some secret ingredients I can teach you about too.” Louis plays along, purposely too bright for the sake of sarcasm.

Harry’s face drops; poisoning jokes are his least favorite of all.

Of course Gemma doesn’t get it, so she’s just content with the idea of learning how to cook from someone who actually knows what they’re doing. He’s surprised that Harry would even allow that to happen, much less suggest it himself, but anything for his dearest sister.

“Cool, sounds fun.” She says, “For now you’re welcome to help yourself to some cheesy whatever if you want.”

“I think I’d better get going now… Another long day.” He lies his way out. He’s had quite enough of her for one evening, and especially Harry’s newly re-budding attachment is going to take some serious getting used to. For now, small doses seems to be all he can handle.

For Harry’s sake only, Louis exerts his best effort to ignore the voice in his head telling him how easily this problem could be solved with just one bite. If he could lace something undetectable into her toothbrush, Harry wouldn’t even suspect him as the catalyst to her sickness. He’s too busy focused on the food approach that he hasn’t even begun to consider all the multitude of ways Louis knows to sneak something fatal into a person’s system.

But—he would know. And being the one to bring harm to Harry’s heart would hurt him just as much. So no matter how much more tedious it may be, he can’t just poison his way out of this particular situation.

“You’re not staying over tonight?” Harry sounds the same way Louis felt when he heard Gemma would be staying for the indefinite future.

“I do have my own home too.” Louis halfway teases, leaving without a kiss for maybe the first time since they started seeing each other. “We’ll talk tomorrow. You two enjoy your meal.”

“Thanks. See ya.” Gemma easily waves him off. Harry just stares like a lost little puppy watching his human leave him at home alone all day.

 

*

 

He’s actually glad Harry has someone to keep him busy, because he isn’t going home yet and he doesn’t need Harry asking question about where he is headed and why. Although he wouldn’t even need to speak with Niall privately if not for Harry latching onto his mysterious visitor so eagerly to begin with.

So maybe he’s definitely jealous of all the attention she’s getting now, but somehow he’s also coming from a place of genuine concern too. If there’s anything incriminating to find on her, Louis would rather find out sooner rather than later, before Harry gets too accustomed to having her around.

He rings the doorbell and waits with bated breath, knowing Niall isn’t going to be happy about seeing him. Probably not too excited about the idea of helping him with something either.

Harry’s closest friend opens the door and pauses, completely neutral in expression as his brain begins to process why Louis is standing on his doorstep. Just as Louis opens his mouth to explain, the door slams shut in his face.

Louis stands with his jaw silently hung open, adjusting for a moment as he blinks away the shock of being so blatantly denied before he could even ask. That’s twice today.

This is going to be harder than he thought.

Niall has underestimated his determination, though. He sits on the first step and gets comfortable, pulling his phone out to keep him occupied while he waits for the door to open again, or Niall tries sneaking out the back or something. He can’t stay inside forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [perlasrosa](http://perlasrosa.tumblr.com/). Love you all xxx


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Gemma's in town to stay, she and Harry bonded a little and we learned more about their past. Meanwhile, jealous Louis turned to Niall for some help in uncovering her true motives.
> 
> This chapter is about twice as long as the rest and somehow turned into a giant smutty bloodbath at some point so yeah big warning for that but I hope you enjoy xx

It’s about two hours and thirty levels of Candy Crush later when Louis’s patience wears thin. He’s contemplating breaking a window or something to get Niall’s attention, but thankfully he reaches his limit around the same mark. Louis stand to face him when the door opens.

“I’ll give you one more minute to get lost before I call the cops to physically remove you from my property.” He says.

“You make it really hard to restrain from killing you sometimes.” Louis is only joking a little bit.

“Forty seconds.” Niall retaliates.

“Just hear me out.” Louis turns on his best sugary sweet face, letting the charm seep into his eyes as he barely pouts his bottom lip. “I’ve been good. I haven’t done anything but sit quietly; it’s not like I was bothering you.”

“Wrong. Your existence bothers me.” Niall crosses. “What are you even doing here?”

“It’s about Harry.” Louis uses it to get Niall personally invested before he sets up the favor. “He could be in danger, but I uh, don’t know for sure.”

Niall is clearly still reluctant, but he takes the bait anyway.

“So what do you want me to do about it?” He asks.

“I need your PI services.” Louis says. “Double your usual price and I’ll pay it.”

“Keep your dirty money.” Niall declines. “Who am I looking into and why?”

“At the Payne’s get-together, did you happen to speak to a woman named Gemma?”

“How the fuck should I know? There was a ton of people there.”

“Tall, purple hair. Harry’s dimpled smile.” Louis identifies.

“What about her?” Niall seems to recognize.

“She claims to be family.”

“And?” Niall is clearly determined to make this as difficult as humanly possible.

“And being who we are, I don’t think it’s the smartest idea to trust just anybody.” Louis resists the urge to grind his teeth together.

“Tell me about it.” He scoffs.

“Well, you already know Harry’s stance on the matter.” Louis says curtly.

“Let me guess,” Niall leans against the door frame with his arms crossed. A sure physical sign of his relaxation, to whatever minor degree. “It’s been about… eh, we’ll call it 48 hours… so by now he’s probably accepted whatever off-the-rails bullshit story she’s spun to play on his sympathies, and if I know him at all I can say he’s also gone a step further to extend himself beyond his logical capability with the intent of ‘giving her a real chance’ or what-the-fuck-ever else he uses to rationalize his own next-level psychopathic behavior.”

“She’s sleeping on his couch, dude.” He doesn’t mean to address him so casually, but damn. Niall is smarter than Louis has given him credit for. “A near stranger to him at this point, and all it took was one night to get into his head! For an actual fucking murderer, he’s the most gullible person I’ve ever known. How has he managed to get this far in life?”

“Fuckin’ mystery to me. Gotta be running on pure cosmic luck at this point.” Niall rolls his eyes. “I’m still tryin’t figure out how letting go of an admitted poisoner such as yourself hasn’t panned out to be the worst decision of his life to date.”

“If I may confide in you for a moment: it was.” Louis admits, “He managed to win me over, sure, but for a moment there the whole lot of you were in some serious potential danger.”

“As if I wasn’t already aware.” He scoffs. “No telling him that, though. When his heart’s stuck on something he can be so… persuasive. He’ll make you second guess yourself in a minute if your head’s not completely screwed on tight.”

“Even then.” Louis agrees. He likes to think he’s got a pretty intelligent mind between his own ears, but with Harry it’s a whole other realm of blurred thoughts and emotions.

The air falls silent, neither one really sure how to proceed. Louis feels a distinct sense of comradery that didn’t previously exist between them until the present moment, but he’s wary about testing it just yet.

“So.” Niall chips through the edge, “Guess we’re both gonna have to watch his ass for him this time?”

He melts into a smile. “I was hoping you’d say something to that effect.”

 

**

 

It’s been a long week with Gemma. Louis claims he’s too busy to stop by for long and he hasn’t spent the night since she’s been around, but he never used to be this in demand before. Harry’s not stupid; he knows Louis is avoiding her. Even though he promised to try the opposite.

Niall is all over the place lately too, so Harry’s been through a lot of back and forth between work and showing Gemma around town. The secret’s finally out to Liam and Sophia, who are both over the moon that he’s finally reconnecting with maybe the only positive part of his childhood, so they’ve got no complaints when he takes some time off to go apartment shopping with her that weekend.

Honestly, he can’t wait for her to find a permanent place to live, either. Much as he loves getting to know her again, it’s a bit suffocating in his own home with her there all the time. He can’t walk around without clothes anymore, or blast the music as loud as he wants while he’s cleaning (and boy does she leave a mess to be cleaned), she keeps making him terrible food that the feels like he has to eat, and worst of all she always wants to talk about things, most of that being what’s going on in Harry’s daily life.

He really needs to kill someone. Soon.

 

*

 

“Hey, stranger. How ya been?” Alberto answers the door at Louis’s that evening.

“It’s been kind of a crazy week.” Harry shrugs. “How about you?”

“Oh, I’m the same as ever. Not so sure about Louis, though.” He says, leading Harry upstairs to whichever room Louis is hiding in tonight. “Been kind of a weird week for him too. Maybe you can lift him up a little.”

“Is everything alright?” Harry’s instantly concerned. He seemed fine the last time Harry saw him, but that was only for a brief moment when he dropped by the shop yesterday afternoon to say hi.

“He’s not injured or anything, just a little strange. I’ll let you be the judge.” Alberto stops in front of a door at the farthest end of the hallway. Harry’s not sure he’s ever been in this room before.

He knocks first, waiting for Louis to shout, “Come in!” before giving Harry the go-ahead nod to join him.

Louis is standing on his tiptoes to reach a blank spot on the cluttered collage he’s stretched out over all four walls in the otherwise empty room. Ancient newspaper clippings, printed articles from the internet, a bunch of glossy images depicting bright bloody body parts, and a couple dozen portraits all bearing the same blank eyes despite the diversity of their individual appearance.

Louis turns around once the photo in his hand is taped securely on the wall, smiling at Harry as if the room looking like a homicide department’s wet dream isn’t anything new for him.

“Hey, Haz. How was your day?”

“Good…” Harry says, taking a couple tentative steps into the room to shut the door behind. “How about you?... Everything alright in here?”

“Great.” He tries to lie, but Harry’s too good at seeing through that by now. All he has to do is raise an inquisitive brow Louis’s way to make him crack. “Maybe a little burnt out… Forgot how into this stuff I can get. Probably why I stopped in the first place.”

“Stopped what?” Harry asks for the sake of conversation, but it’s easy for someone in his position to assume by the vague familiarity of some more famous faces, “Profiling serial killers?”

It’s an interesting spread, to say the least. Louis has compiled an entire library of murders; descriptors of their gruesome crimes almost as vibrant as the photographic evidence standing out against them. Some of them actual crime scene pictures that Louis must have done some serious digging to find, and others just mugshots of the booked perpetrators that could be easily searched online.

One in particular really grabs Harry’s attention. It’s not meant to be a center focus at all, at least from what he can tell the twisted piece of art is supposed to make the suspects to all blend together in a mess of nonsensical chaos. Tucked into a corner of the wall is a stomach-flipping picture of his mother’s face clear as day; her stone-cold expression staring down the camera with confidence, still so soft and pretty in a way he could never quite forget.

Inching towards it, pretending to glance over the arrangement as a whole, he’s left a little short of breath by the sight of the face he’s purposely tried so hard to erase from his brain after all these years. It never disappears.

“Yeah.” Louis says, snapping Harry out of it enough to remember what time period they’re currently in. “My parents used to call me a freak. Ben too. Guess they managed to bully a bit of sense into me… for a while, anyway.”

“Not enough, I guess.” Harry smirks over his shoulder at the secret between them. “No judgements here though. Even normal people seem to have some sort of sick obsession with this kind of stuff too.”

“Morbid fascination.” Louis says, “I suppose it’s natural when curbed correctly, but some part of me always knew it was different. I never told anyone about this, but I used to… uh. Catch animals, to practice with. That’s how all this started.”

“So cliché.” Harry teases. “Did you set fires too? Wet the bed way past what’s appropriate?”

“Shut up.” Louis grumbles, pouting because Harry obviously nailed it.

“S’okay. Me too.” Harry relates, laughing a little at the gravity as he reaches out to pull Louis in, let him rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Like I said, no judgements.”

Louis hums, snaking his arms around Harry’s waist to nestle himself a little closer.

Harry can’t fight the way every time Louis looks at him his heart has trouble steadying, how Louis’s skin brushing against his own for even a fraction of a second makes Harry’s whole body beg to be noticed, the fact that his smile rivals the sun and his frown makes Harry feel like he’d pull the moon down from the sky if that would make Louis’s heart content again.

Louis might actually be Harry’s first real crush. He’s never felt this strongly about anyone before. People always try to get his attention, sometimes he’ll fake it for the sake of the show, but unwarranted flirting has never gotten to Harry like Louis has. This is… completely uncharted territory.

“The women were always my favorite.” Louis says after a quiet moment. “Everyone’s heard of Bundy, Dahmer, Gacy… but women can be just as brutal and twice as prolific, yet still manage to fly under the radar. I mean, can you name even one woman who might be on par with them, just off the top of your head?”

Oh yeah, Harry could name one right away.

“Please tell me you’re not actually idolizing these people.” He says instead.

“It’s more of a learning experience.” Louis answers. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look up to them at one point, but going through all this stuff now, something feels so off about it. These days, I’d rather get my own hands on them than ask for an autograph.”

Harry nods, understanding. He used to think there was a lot to learn from the ones who’ve paved the way before him. He and Louis are are headed for the same fate someday, honestly; the ones who didn’t turn themselves in hardly planned on getting caught either. He can’t be a hundred percent sure that anyone has ever lived a full life with a hefty body count to carry with them to the great beyond, but that’s the ultimate goal anyway.

“Aileen Wuornos.” Harry answers the question. Louis pulls back a little to stare up at him with brows raised, so Harry goes on, admittedly showing off a bit. “Shot seven men in the span of one year, claiming they all raped or tried to rape her at one point. Which, if that was the case, then good riddance.”

“Are you reading over my shoulder?” Louis asks, breaking their embrace to turn around now. She’s not on his wall though, at least not in Harry’s line of vision. That one was straight from memory.

“You’re not the only one who knows their stuff.” He winks.

“Okay smarty pants.” Louis sasses, gladly taking on the challenge. “What else ya got?”

“Lalaurie, Bathory, Dyer…” Harry offers.

“You are good at this.” Louis nods, determined to stump him with at least one.

“Know your enemies.” Harry shrugs.

“Myra Hindley? Karla Homolka?” Louis asks, searching through the articles on his own wall now for names to fire off.

“I remember Hindley. Her and her boyfriend murdered a bunch of kids or something, right?” Harry checks, waiting for the roll of Louis’s eyes to confirm. “Homolka doesn’t sound familiar, though. Educate me.”

“Nice. I win.” Louis grins, never mind that Harry’s still well-versed enough to at least keep up with his wider knowledge of infamous villains anyway. “Two sides of the same coin. Went on a little spree with her husband, did some time for it, but she ended up getting out on a plea deal.”

“What are the chances she’s hiding in Miami?” Harry jokes.

Anne’s face is still staring at him on the wall. His eyes keep traveling back to it no matter where else he tries to look. Even now, years gone and only in picture form, she still has him underneath her foot. No matter how far he runs or how much he progresses, there’s just no escaping. Ever. He’s sure there’s some kind of deeper lesson wrapped up in there somewhere, but he’d keep trying to avoid it anyway.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Louis laughs. “Last I read she moved to Guatemala or something. Some resources say she changed her name, some say the courts wouldn’t let her, but I bet she’s made herself impossible to find either way. Wouldn’t you?”

“Mhm.” Harry half-acknowledges.

 

//

“What happens if you get caught?” Harry asked his mother one night while watching her cook dinner. He must’ve been no more than eight years old, sitting up on the high bar stool so he could lean over the counter and speak directly to her.

She hesitated, focused instead on her chopped vegetables for a minute. She always took her time answering his out of the blue questions like that. Harry let himself get hypnotized by the slice of the blade against the cutting board, leaving tiny pieces of food behind to just pop in your mouth.

“Nothing good.” She finally said, scraping the pile of celery into the big pot of chicken soup broth. “You don’t plan on that though; you plan for the opposite. Take all the proper precautions to make sure that doesn’t happen. Never cut corners.” She warned, slamming the knife down particularly hard with the next slice.

“Like how?” Harry wanted to know.

“How to not get caught? I could stand here and lecture you all day on the important ways to cover all your tracks.” She tried to withhold from him; she always did in his younger years, but Harry wouldn’t back down. He had questions that he’d just keep bugging her with until she gave them proper answers.

“Okay then. Do it.” He said, propping his arms up by his elbows to sit his chin in his cupped hands, ready and waiting.

She sighed, staring back at him for a long moment. He wonders now, why didn’t she ever tell him to drop it? Send him to his room? A behavioral therapist?

“I’ll tell you how to make a body disappear, and then I’m calling your sister down for dinner and that’s enough for tonight, alright?” She decided instead.

Harry nodded excitedly, happy to get even a small bread crumb from the endless loaf she used to keep him on the line.

“Burn it, don’t dump it or bury it.” She said. “If you can’t go somewhere safe to set it on fire, find another way. Of course there’s also the option of hydrochloric acid in a plastic bin, but that’s a bit harder to get your hands on, and still leaves a nasty mess behind. The only proper way to get rid of a body, in my professional opinion, is to turn it into ashes.”

“Then what about the ashes?” Harry wondered.

“Those are easier to dispose of. Toss them in a body of water, or spread them over the ground somewhere if you’re feeling sentimental.” She shrugged. “While it’s better not to keep souvenirs, if you must, then make sure it’s something that can be hidden in plain sight without suspicion.”

“Do you?” Harry asked.

Again, she closed her mouth, stretched it into a tight line, thought about it for a minute.

“You know not to ever tell anybody about these things, right?” She always liked to remind him before sharing something that could get her caught, and this is evidence. Harry’s mouth was salivating at the thought that he would get to see real actual proof of the victims she always spoke of.

“Tell people about what?” Harry played dumb, watching his mother’s smile spread at his cleverness.

“Exactly.” She said, leaving the kitchen area to extend her hand for Harry to help him hop off the bar stool.

She led him to the living room where they stood in front of the fireplace as Harry waited patiently for her to go on. He imagined a body of his own, mangled and crumpled down enough to fit in the small space before them, keeping his family warm in the dead of winter as they watched it burn into dust from their cozy spot on the couch. No secrets. Just people that accepted him enough to share the glory.

Eventually, Harry looked up at her for more, so she nodded towards the decorative urn lined up among a bunch of other random garage sale pieces above.

“Gramma?” Harry’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“Grandma was buried at her funeral.” Anne said. “But I can’t very well tell people who’s really in there, right? So everyone else has to believe it’s her.”

“Who is it?” Harry asked, wide-eyed and begging for more.

“Abusers.” She admitted. Her victims. “A little pinch of ashes from every single one.”

“How many?” Harry pressed even further.

She went quiet again, squeezed his tiny hand once before dropping it completely. When she finally had something else to say it was on her way back to the kitchen, “Gemma! Come down to help set the table for dinner, please!”

\\\

 

“Where are you?” Louis always notices whenever Harry gets too lost in the past.

He doesn’t know how to answer that anymore. All he ever dreamed of was finding that comfort in another person; having someone he could truly let into his life, and now that Louis is finally here Harry can’t stop locking him out for some reason. Not all of his mental fucked-ness can be blamed on his mom, right? Maybe it’s time to stop letting her control him. If not for himself, then for Louis.

“Anne Cox.” He says, reaching out towards the photo, droning on without thinking too much, trying to resist the natural urge stop himself. “Brought into custody when one of her victims managed to escape and lead the cops to her kill spot. Originally charged with the kidnapping and murder of at least five men, which later rose to twelve when she was booked, and finally in her confession tape she admitted to killing at least a hundred, give or take a few, over a period of twenty years.”

“I remember her.” Louis nods, “People talked about it for a long time. Her victims were all abusive husbands and fathers, so there were tons of arguments about whether she deserved to be stopped or not.”

“Raised two kids on her own after her divorce in the early 90’s. They were twelve and fifteen at the time of her conviction.” Harry keeps reciting like a detective reading off a full profile to his colleagues, waiting for it to click. “Of course, witness protection made sure they disappeared from public records, but the controversy surrounding her kills started speculation that she could have passed on her teachings. The general consensus, last I checked, is that they’re still out there somewhere, carrying on her legacy.”

“Absurd.” Louis rolls his eyes, “Honestly, what are the chances that the kids of a serial killer will go on to be just like them? Plenty of these people had kids who grew to detest their parents, not follow in their footsteps.”

“Parents who were killing innocent people.” Harry says.

He can see the moment the gears start to turn in Louis’s head.

“Oh.” He finally says, still processing out loud, “Oh my. Oh. Holy shit. You’re not saying…”

He rips the photo off the wall, staring more closely to examine her features, looking up to Harry and back down to compare the two. The resemblance is a bit uncanny, in Harry’s own opinion. It makes his stomach twist. Like having future vision.

“She taught you to be this way?” Louis breathes in heavy disbelief. “What a horrid—who does that to their own child? What the fuck, I—Harry…”

“I mean, I asked.” Harry defends her now. It’s one thing to carry around his own anger-fueled blame for all his life, a whole other realm for someone else to point the finger. Even if Louis is coming from a place of concerned sympathy. “From the moment I found out, I wanted to be just like her.”

His memories pull him back into the exact moment of his rebirth before he can really stop it.

 

//

It was way past his bed time that night, but Harry couldn’t get to sleep. His mom had already read him a story and tucked him in hours ago, and Gemma was quiet in her room next-door. Something felt weird inside him for some reason, though he couldn’t figure out why. He got out of bed to go to his mom’s room instead.

The house was dark and still, but Harry wasn’t afraid. He never was afraid of the dark or much else at that age. Heights always made him nervous, but they lived in a small one-story house at the time, so there was no fear as he pushed his mom’s bedroom door open and whispered towards her bed.

Her sleeping form wasn’t underneath the covers, but the light in her attached bathroom was bleeding through the slight crack, so Harry bravely marched his way in there too.

He found her, alright. She was in there with a man. He was in the bathtub, tied up at his wrists and ankles, while she sat on the edge. His eyes grew wide when he saw Harry, but she didn’t turn around. She must have thought the man was reacting to the knife she held too close to his neck for comfort.

Harry just stared. He watched. He heard his mom’s unmistakable voice tell the man, “Don’t worry, they’ll be so much happier without you.”

He followed the harsh drag of her blade across the man’s neck with his eyes. Couldn’t look away from the blood that spewed from his skin, gushed and flowed down over the rest of his body, staining his torso, slicking the coarse hairs to his chest, pooling in the tub beneath him. Dripping bright red so haunting Harry remembers every detail to this day.

She sat there for a long time, just staring like Harry did. She reached forward to drag two of her fingers over the leaking incision, just to feel the damage she’d done. Then she turned around and her face froze in shock. Jaw dropped, bug eyes, completely speechless. The knife clattered down to the linoleum when her hand went limp.

“I wanted some water.” Harry finally said. “I can’t reach the glasses.”

“Harry. You weren’t supposed to see this.” She sounded way less panicked than she looked. “My God. What are you doing out of bed? Go back to sleep.”

“Water.” He said. “Can you get me some water? Please?”

“I—” She hesitated, looking back at the mess behind her for one quick second before turning her attention back to him.

“Okay.” She said, “Go wait in the kitchen. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Harry nodded. Left the room. Waited crisscross on the floor in front of the cabinets. Thought about all that blood, about putting his fingers in it, about if the whole tub was full could he just sit in it with his toys while mom washed him up like any other bath time?

When she came to join him, the blood was gone. She was in her robe and didn’t say a single thing. She reached up high to get him a glass, put a few ice cubes in it and ran the sink to fill it halfway. Crouched down to his level and gently held it out to his waiting hands.

He just stared at the cubes clinking against the side.

“Harry, baby, are you alright?” She asked through the stifling silence. He didn’t know how to answer that. He just looked up at her, blinking dumbly. “You know mommy would never hurt you, right?”

That one was a little easier. He nodded yes. Of course she wouldn’t. Mom was nice and loving and she always did her best to make sure he and Gemma had everything they needed to be happy. Mom would never hurt him. She would never hurt a fly.

“And you know you and your sister are perfectly safe here with me, right?” She asked. He wasn’t quite sure of that anymore, but he nodded again anyway. “And you understand that whatever you think you saw in there has to stay between the two of us, right?”

“There was so much blood.” He said. He looked down at his glass of what he knew was water, but all he could see now were bloody ice cubes melting against more of the sticky redness. There was just blood everywhere.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” She said, pulling his head close, holding him tight.

“Was it warm?” He asked. He felt cold in that moment, down into the core of his brittle bones. He imagined it surrounding him tight like a cocoon, silky smooth like the fancy sheets on his mom’s bed. Warm. Safe. Content.

“Was it…?” She pulled back to look him in the eyes, face nearly frozen in horror.

“Yeah. How did it feel?” He asked. “When you put your hands—”

“Shh, don’t.” She shook her head back and forth. “Why would you ask me that?”

Harry shrugs. “It was kinda pretty.”

Her face scrunched up and got all wrinkly. She frowned.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked.

“You should have been in bed.” Her voice sounded a little bit angry. “I just… didn’t mean for you to see that. You have to forget, okay? Think of it as a dream, just a very bad dream.”

It did feel sort of like a dream, but not exactly a bad one. Just a weird one.

“Can you read me a story?” He asked.

“I did that earlier…” She started to say, but the look on his face must have changed her mind. “Okay. Another story, then. Which one do you want?”

“Wild Things.” Harry said. That one was his favorite. The wild things always felt like his friends.

“Alright. Let’s go back to bed. I’ll read you Where the Wild Things Are, and then you have to promise to go to sleep and forget all about tonight for me.” She stood up, keeping her hand extended for him to take. He stared at it for a moment longer, thinking of how hard it would be to erase the blood still dripping from her fingers in his mind.

Careful not to wake Gemma, his mom whispered by his bedside in her growly version of the Wild Things’ voice, “oh, please don’t go! We’ll eat you up, we love you so!” and Harry bursted into tears without warning.

He didn’t know why, but there was just blood behind his eyes, and mom was still there, and she stopped reading after that, taking him into her arms, letting him cuddle up in her lap, soaking her silky robe with salted water, and she let him carry on, and Harry didn’t forget a single minute of it in the morning at all.

\\\

 

The words spill out in a summarized version as if Louis is the professional help he’s always needed. Something about actually talking about things that bother him makes it easier to deal with, somehow. Who knew?

“Not your fault.” Louis shakes his head. “You were just a kid. She should’ve done better.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Didn’t she always say she did the best she could with what she had? Didn’t Harry pick up that very same core belief from her, too?

“I am so, deeply sorry.” Louis speaks right to his soul as he stares through Harry’s eyes. “You… I can’t even imagine the amount of… you’ve done so well for yourself, H. I’m so proud of you.”

“Why on earth would you possibly be proud of me?”

“This changes nothing.” Louis lets the photo fall to the floor, stepping closer to replace it with Harry’s hands instead. “You are still the most beautiful, kind-hearted soul I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Maybe even more so. Despite having this life forced on you, you’ve managed to make the best of it.”

“I’m a murderer, Lou.” Harry reminds him. These adjectives don’t coexist together in his own mind.

“Maybe I have low standards.” Louis shrugs. “I stand by it.”

Thing is, Louis has the highest of standards for himself. Always striving for the best of the best in all areas of his life, and for some reason he’s chosen Harry. That does something erratic to his heartbeat.

He’s spent his whole life looking at himself through the eyes of innocent people. Well, non-killers, at least. Normal people who’ve chosen normal life paths and made normal mistakes along the way. Maybe in this world, where lifeless bodies are as normalized as brushing your teeth twice a day, the standards for good vs. evil are something entirely different. If he and Louis can see each other as some sort of human beings with redeemable qualities, maybe he could learn to give himself the same grace too.

 

“My mom was never around.” Louis says, eventually popping their little bubble again. “She worked her ass off to keep our family afloat, and my father reaped all the benefits.”

“You don’t have to tell me this.” Harry says. It’s not as if he expected some kind of barter system with their family life or something, but regardless if his own opening up made Louis feel ready to share all of a sudden, he’s there to listen. He squeezes his boyfriend’s hand in assurance.

“It was me and four sisters, but dad always said he hated being surrounded by women and when the hell was Johannah gonna give him a real son for once?” Louis continues anyway, “He never did have anything nice to say about me. I swear I thought my name was Fucking Fairy until I was at least six.”

“Cutest fairy to ever bless the planet.” Harry tries to lighten the mood.

“Now how can that be when you exist?” Louis counters.

Harry can only imagine how much worse it got from there, but he’d rather be spared the details unless Louis simply must get them out. It makes his stomach churn just to think about anyone ever laying a harmful finger on Louis now; let alone the tiny, defenseless, child version of his angelic face.

“Would my mother have killed him?” Harry asks, to phrase it eloquently.

Louis sits on that for a prolonged moment, probably travelling back through a few of his own memories of more awful days too.

“I should hope your mum would’ve gutted and ripped him apart until he couldn’t handle a single second more.”

Harry nods, holding Louis tight to his chest, petting the top of his head.

“Your sisters? What happened to them?” Harry wonders.

“I don’t know.” Louis says. Something about his whole demeanor feels stone cold as he lives vicariously through the emptiness of his lonely roots. “They’d get in trouble if they sympathized with me, so eventually they just learned to pretend I wasn’t there… and then when I left, the lot of them have received the same treatment ever since.”

“It’s not fair.” Harry whines, just for a moment. Just one moment to be weak, that’s all he needs. “Neither of us deserved any of this. It isn’t fair.”

Louis sighs, pulling away to look Harry in the eyes. He reaches to cup the side of Harry’s face in one hand, gentle.

“Do you think we would’ve found each other if not for all we’ve been through?”

“I don’t know.” Harry answers honestly. He’s never thought about it before, but maybe he could imagine a life for them outside of all this melancholy. Somewhere pretty, sunny… happy.

Maybe Louis would’ve come to Miami for spring break one year, when Harry would be partying with his friends too, and they would catch each other’s eyes across the bonfire by the beach, or find themselves suddenly grinding on each other at some dingy club at 1am. Both a little past too drunk, but neither one caring because they’d stay up all night dancing, flirting, and laughing. Maybe go home together later, and Harry would get a call back the next day if he was really lucky.

Maybe Louis’s family would’ve moved to Harry’s hometown in high school, and Louis would’ve been the cute foreign exchange student that everyone wanted to know, and for some reason he would only have eyes for Harry who used to be the quiet kid at the back of the room without much interest in anyone except for the pretty new kid with the glassy blue eyes.

Maybe universe they could’ve been childhood best friends with secret crushes on each other for years and years, both too shy to risk the good thing they already had to turn it into something better. One of them could’ve ended up almost marrying somebody else, until the other stood up at the wedding to confess their love at the very last minute, and the other would drop everything on the dime just so they could run away together and be free with their love.

Maybe nothing would’ve happened at all. Louis would’ve kept living in London and Harry would still be in the Southern states somewhere, and they’d never know how perfect they could’ve been for each other in any sort of alternate reality.

“I don’t want to know.” Harry decides. It’s not as if he’d exactly given up on the idea of romantic love in his lifetime, but that he’d just been born into acceptance that it just wasn’t realistic for him. At best, he might someday have a pretend family with people who couldn’t know the real him.

Yet somehow, whatever higher power there might be out there had arranged for Louis to walk into his store one day and his heart shortly after, so any maybes and might haves that were tossed aside in favor, Harry is eternally grateful that they never came to life. This here is exactly enough for him.

“Me either.” Louis agrees, letting the smile stretch his lips as he brings them softly to meet Harry’s.

 

**

 

Niall had agreed to help keep Harry distracted while he investigates Gemma, but since he typically doesn’t just happen upon appropriate targets in his line of work, that meant doing some actual searching for victims to throw their way. Which in turn, puts a hold on the amount of effort he can focus on the real task at hand, but Louis is keeping his hopes up that they have time before any imminent danger, at least.

32 year old Michael Howe delivered several stab wounds to the chests of his own two fathers a few weeks ago. Their corpses were recently found decaying in their bedroom right where Michael left them, and the perp already been filed a missing person by official record. Niall used some of his old connections at Miami Metro to see if he could crack the case on his own, and he did, but the police department didn’t have to know that.

Again, Louis utilizes the temptation of his body in combination with his expert level flirting to lure their mark into helping him load the groceries into his car when they leave the supermarket that evening. Howe is in a poorly executed disguise, but enough that nobody seems to recognize him actually walking around in public as a wanted fugitive.

Nobody notices a thing when he tries to climb into the backseat, or when Harry jabs a syringe in his thigh before he can even gasp his shock, or when Louis shoves the limp body forward and quickly slams the door shut. He scans the nearly empty lot once over his shoulder, and hops behind the wheel to take them all back to the studio.

“A little less force next time, maybe?” Harry mumbles, pushing the criminal off his own body from where Louis crushed him underneath in his hurry.

“Sorry. I’m not used to snatching people up like this yet. I was worried someone would see us.”

“You did great.” Harry assures, “If anybody was paying attention, they would’ve shouted or tried to stop you before we could get away.”

“Has that happened to you before?” Louis wonders.

“The only time that I know of somebody catching me is Niall, who was actively following the same person as me.” Harry says.

“What would you do if someone did happen to say something?” Louis’s preferred way of killing is totally incognito and undetected on all fronts. Nobody sees him with his targets, there’s no attacks involved in bringing them down, and therefore no possible witnesses left behind.

Harry is a bit bolder in his approach. Of course, minimal detection is necessary, but it’s not always as easy as breaking into somebody’s home to sedate them. In most cases he prefers not to infiltrate the personal space of a dangerous man, so that involves finding the perfect opportunity to sedate them in public or otherwise lure them away.

Louis has a lot to learn about these new methods.

“I’d have to work with it in the moment.” Harry says after a moment.

Louis considers fight or flight, and makes his mind up quickly. Whatever comes of this risky life he’s chosen, prison is not an option. He decided a long time ago, it’s either death or disappearance. Rotting away behind bars is the worst possible outcome he could imagine.

“You’d… we’d have to take care of it, don’t you agree?”

“Assuming it was within our physical capability, I suppose.” Harry’s voice is tight and dull.

Louis would do it for him. Although it does strike a personal nerve, he’s nowhere near as committed to this crazy sense of morals as his boyfriend is. He’d take the hit and do the deed for the sake of preserving whatever sanity Harry has in him.

Hopefully it never comes to that, though.

*  
  
It’s Harry’s turn to kill this time, so their victim lies chained up on the ground while Harry towers above him with his blowpipe gripped in two hands, waiting for him to wake up. When he does, Harry warns him about screaming before he crouches to rip the tape off, and the guy starts wailing out loud anyway.

Harry quickly shoves Howe’s own crumpled shirt between his teeth, gagging him into silence before he can carry on more than a second or two.

“I told you that would be a bad idea.” Harry frowns in his face. “I thought we could have a little chat tonight, but I guess that won’t be happening, then.”

Howe stares back at him, mumbling something unintelligible through the fabric clogging his throat.

Louis watches on, absorbing from the pro who he now knows was properly schooled through the teachings of another practiced genius as well. He’s itching to get a weapon in his own hands again, but able to keep himself settled with the knowledge that Harry needs his release too.

“It’s a shame, because I might have let you go with a good enough reason. That’s happened once before.” Harry muses, placing his weapon gently on top of the victim’s heart just to taunt him.

“You’re not serious?” Louis whispers through the dark.

“Of course not.” Harry keeps his own tone loud enough for Michael to hear. “You know I like to watch the mental squirm.”

“Good, I better be your only exception.” He threatens, a tease in his voice.

More muffled sounds from their bound target. Struggling, crying without the tears.

“I so wish I could hear what you have to say, but you just can’t be trusted.” Harry shakes his head at the loss of what he’ll never know. “Lou, would you come closer for me please?”

“Why’s that?” He asks, stepping forward anyway.

“Oh, I thought we could just share a cup of tea, is all.” Harry looks over his shoulder with a smirk.

He rolls his eyes. “I can see my sense of humor is rubbing off on you.”

“Not the first trait I’ve accidentally adopted from somebody else.” Harry shrugs. He lets go of his pole with one hand to leave space for Louis to grip it too if he wants; an offering.

Louis considers it, letting his heart soar with all the love he has for this moment; the two of them killing together, fully sharing their lives and accepting everything about one another. A future more perfect than anything he’d ever dreamed for himself before.

He chooses instead to stick his foot out and press the sole of his shoe to the victim’s neck, gazing up into forest green with a smile. “On three?”

Harry nods, his grin growing into something uncontrollable as he grips his own weapon tightly again, aiming it right above the rapidly beating mark behind the victim’s rib cage. “One.”

“Two.” Louis exerts a bit more pressure in his foot, feeling the bob of the Adam’s Apple underneath, making the guy choke around the shirt still stuffed in his mouth.

“Three.” Harry calls it, and at the same time Louis presses down as hard as he can, Harry jabs the tip of his tool through the victim’s heart. He seizes up once, chest jolted upward by the piercing blow, and his face gradually turns almost red enough to match the intensity of the blood spreading slowly out on the concrete beneath his bare torso as he takes his final breath.

Louis closes his eyes to relish in the feeling of raw power that floods through his body with the simple satisfaction that he has the capability to decide who lives or dies and exactly how. Sharing it with Harry does something even larger, as if the high weren’t already euphoric enough, having a beautiful man by his side to experience it with must be somewhere near what heroin feels like. If that’s a correct assumption, then he understands how people can get so easily hooked on hard drugs. Louis wouldn’t give this feeling up for anything in the world. If it were no longer available to him, there’s very little he can imagine would keep him from it again.

When he blinks himself back into the moment, Harry is staring at him with all of those thoughts mirrored so clearly on the artwork of his face. He’s not ready for it to end yet.

“You don’t happen to have an extra saw around, do you?”

“Sorry. Didn’t really plan on ever having the need for it.” Harry says, “But you can do the honors if you like.”

“A man after my own heart.” Louis sighs, pressing the palm of his hand over his chest.

“Yes. And the rest of you, too.” Harry smiles, pulling him in by the back of his neck to press his lips to Louis’s forehead.

Last time, Harry dismembered the body while Louis watched the process perched on the table where they’d been fucking only minutes before. This time, Louis is the one who bends down to press the serrated edge at the joint between the end of their victim’s shoulder and the start of his arm.

“Hard.” Harry advises, watching over now without participation. “It’s not going to cut as easy as you’d think, especially when you get to the bone. You have to put some muscle behind it.”

Louis nods, taking a deep breath, letting the monster out to run free. He doesn’t have to think too much when that side of him takes over; he just feels, lets it surge through him without restraint. Until Harry, it had only known the careful taste of a few drops of this, a sprinkle of that over a beautifully cooked masterpiece. Now, it salivates inside him as if the meat of this dead man’s body is the poisonous meal.

The sweaty flesh gripped in his hands to keep it steady is no match for the strength his beast gives him, so the blade moves without as much effort as Harry’s warning suggested.

The blood, oh, the blood. Squirting up onto his face, dotting his cheeks with its warmth, staining his hands and his clothes and his mind with the sight of it. The bone, crunching and cracking in his ears, revving his heart up with twice the craving as before he started carving his way through. The arm, ripping away from the rest of its anchor, skin torn and crimson and screaming before him. God. He can only think of one thing in the world that’s a more breathtaking sight.

“One more thing.” Louis says, after all four limbs have been successfully separated.

He can imagine that he looks exactly as bloody and pulsating on the outside as he feels on the inside. There is absolutely no rush to escape this lurid mindset any time soon, but he’ll save the head for Harry to finish. Sometime in the middle of cutting off the last leg, an idea sparked inside him that won’t stop nagging. A gift, of sorts. A little token of appreciation for all that Harry’s turned him on to in just a few short months.

“Anything. Fucking anything for you.” The tone of Harry’s voice coupled with the awe in his eyes leaves nothing to be imagined; he’s ready to go at it any second now. The promise of that has Louis glowing golden inside. Bright and blissful and on top of the fucking world.

“Hand me that little torch from before?” Louis tests his influence, seeing how far Harry will let him go before he can’t take it anymore and has to pounce. Harry moves so fast it sounds like he knocked something over on his way back, but he can’t be arsed to care or maybe doesn’t even notice.

“Turn around.” Louis says it like an order, and Harry obeys without question. He could really get used to this.

For now, he studies the canvas of the man’s bare chest laid out in front of him, carefully planning out his next move. The hole left by Harry’s pipe from earlier, puffy and still leaking what must be the last bits of blood from what could hardly even be called a body anymore, stands out to him as a starting point.

He flicks the torch on, mesmerized by the cerulean flame as he kneels again to touch it to skin. An angry sizzle fills the room when they meet, and Louis lives for it. Lets it drive him to keep going. Smells the seared flesh wafting into his face. Traces the perfect present into reality.

“Okay.” He says when finished, standing up and letting the torch drop to the floor while he admires his work. “You can look now.”

A little heart burnt in flaky, bubbling black, spelling out their initials inside it, right over the spot where a real heart used to beat. HL. Because Louis is nothing without Harry anymore, can’t even fathom how he ever thought he could make it on his own before all of this glory was brought into his life.

“You are so…” Harry struggles to find the right words as he admires the gory doodle, instead choosing to give in to the urge consuming him. He takes Louis’s face between his hands and kisses him silly instead. Louis can taste the blood on his own lips in Harry’s mouth, salty and thick and perfect.

“Perfect.” Harry agrees, licking his lips when they pull apart only to move his kisses elsewhere, tasting drops of it on Louis’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, more from his lips, down to his neck.

“Beautiful.” Harry says, tearing Louis’s sticky shirt off to run his mouth over pinkened skin and perky nipples and the softness of Louis’s tummy.

“Amazing.” He says, working the button of Louis’s shorts with his frantic fingers.

Louis scrapes a hand through Harry’s long, loose curls, burying them against his scalp and pulling Harry’s head away, forcing him up to a stand again.

“My turn.” Louis growls, pushing him back to stumble against the table, leaving him in a state of shock as Louis undoes Harry’s zipper to yank his pants down.

He is so big and hard and just the right amount of smooth and veiny that Louis could honestly shed a tear or two if he thought too much about it. He leans over to lick the tip, loving the sound of Harry’s anticipatory panting and the way he pushes up to shove himself deeper.

He pulls away, teasing as he spits in his hand and wraps it around Harry’s length to tug at him for a moment.

“Louis, please.” Harry begs. “I waited long enough. I let you have you have your fun. Please.”

“Hm, you really want to talk about who’s been waiting longer?” Louis smirks, twisting his wrist upwards to rub his thumb across Harry’s slicked slit, earning him a deep and loud groan from the back of Harry’s throat.

“You only want me when I’m bloody and dangerous.” Louis says, and Harry is left speechless as he uselessly bucks his hips up into Louis’s fist. “So I’m going to savor it while I can. This is my fun, too. Let me have it.”

“Yes, yeah, okay.” Harry whines, nodding furiously against the table as he falls back to lay himself out in complete submission. Louis makes him squirm a bit longer, just because he can, until he finally can’t wait to taste Harry either. He kisses the tip, all down the sides and up again to take it in his mouth and feel a few inches with his tongue. Harry quivers and moans beneath, trying his very best not to thrust upwards because Louis told him to behave.

Louis hums for the vibration as he goes further down, all the way until he’s sure he’ll gag if he takes anymore. Still, there’s a few inches left, and isn’t that a nice little bit of icing on the cake for Louis? He fists the base of it to work the wetness around while he happily bobs his head, loving the stretch of it between his lips and the sight of Harry struggling to keep his spirit from leaving his body. Louis always was good at this, but for Harry he wants to be phenomenal.

“Louis, Louis, Louis, Lou—I’m—” Harry warns him after a couple minutes, tangling his fingers in Louis’s hair and pulling as his muscles tense.

“No.” Louis says, pulling all contact off right away, letting Harry arch up into the air for its nonexistent friction. Without thinking, he reaches down to grab himself and stroke to finish, so Louis yanks his hand away and pins them both to the table on either side.

“I said no.” His voice carries authority again, making Harry whimper beneath him. “I’m not done yet.”

“Please, Louis, please.” Harry begs. Louis’s dick twitches. God, his boyfriend gets more and more magnificent with every passing day.

“I wanna ride you.” Louis says; asks, really, because despite the amount of control Harry’s given him he’s still not sure what’s okay or uncomfortable, and he’d never want to put Harry in a position he’d object to. “Like before, when you pushed me off. I wanna finish what we started.”

“Don’t know if I can make it.” Harry says.

“Do you want to try?” Louis asks, “Wanna be good for me? Make me feel good too?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Harry nods, lifting his head up to look down at Louis with burning eyes.

“Good. Good boy. So pretty like this, you know.” Louis coos as he undresses. He climbs up on the table, straddling over Harry’s waist, hovering just enough to feel the hard shape curve between the crack of Louis’s cheeks.

“There’s nothing—I don’t have any—” Harry moves his hips slightly, gripping Louis’s bum in two large hands, spreading him apart to gently tease his dry hole.

Louis looks down at his body smeared in blood, around the room for something appropriate to get the job done. His eyes absently settle over his shoulder at the pieces of human remains soaking in a puddle of the stuff.

When he looks back at Harry he can tell the same ridiculous idea crossed both their minds for half a second, but something about using another person’s blood as lube still seems beyond fucked-up even given their current circumstance. Probably guarantees at least one or two ugly diseases between them as well.

“Too messy.” Louis laughs, feeling Harry’s body shake with a matching chuckle. He leans over to press their lips together for a sweet moment that quickly turns hungry again, and Louis has a better idea inspired by the spark traveling downward through his veins. “You’ll just have to get me really wet some other way.”

He inches forward, crawling further up Harry’s chest, bumping his knees at Harry’s arms as he positions himself closer to Harry’s head. His mouth. That tongue. Harry nods to encourage him to keep going, so Louis hoists himself up until his bum is hovering right over Harry’s face, and Harry’s so eager that he pulls Louis’s hips down by himself, forcing him to sit on Harry’s lips.

“Oh, my, God,” Louis gasps, pressing himself further down as Harry’s tongue rubs around over his hole, slick and sure and tasting. He hasn’t had this in so long he can’t even remember the last time, and it couldn’t have come close to this wildfire anyway. Harry’s sloppy and dirty with it, purposely trying to make sure he’s good and wet for what’s to come, and Louis can’t even fucking think when Harry prods at him to push his tongue in deep.

“Good, yes, fuck, Harry, yes, oh,” Louis praises as he rides Harry’s face, rocking himself back and forth while Harry moves his tongue just right against him. Harry mumbles something, or maybe just hums in content, who knows, Louis wouldn’t be able to hear it over his erratic moaning or the clouded fog of his brain either way.

Harry slides in a finger and then two, fighting for room inside with his tongue, and Louis clenches around all three when Harry finds his prostate to poke at.

“More,” Louis pants, finally separating himself before he comes on the spot. He wiggles himself down to grab Harry’s face and kiss him breathless, tasting himself on Harry’s tongue. He can feel the sweat beading on his skin as he pulls Harry’s shirt over his head and kisses down his chest, over the sparrows and all four nipples and the curve of his v-lines into the faint hairs around his dick.

He sits up and spreads his legs again, staring into Harry’s eyes as he steadies himself, spits one more time and reaches back to grab Harry’s length.

“That was so good, I almost came right on your pretty face.” Louis says, working him up again before he spreads his cheeks and aims the tip to his slippery hole.

“Next time.” Harry promises, smirking wickedly as he presses in slowly.

Louis tries to savor it, to enjoy the stretch of Harry inside him, the closeness like nothing ever before. He gets him mostly all the way and then forces the rest in, both of them crying out in unison at the tight sting of the flames raging between them. He pulls himself up to just the tip and slams back down once, twice, a handful of times more. He feels Harry so deep he can see the bulge of it in his stomach, feels the ache all the way up in the cavity of his chest that his heart calls home.

Louis jerks himself quick and Harry hits that spot again and he’s yelling and coming, spurting creamy white all over Harry’s chest while he fucks him harder through it. Louis falls over when he’s spent and Harry catches him in his arms, holding them tight against each other while he pushes himself deep with one last thrust and fills Louis with his own release.

 

It’s been on his mind for a while, but that’s the first moment that Louis feels like he a thousand percent means it.

 _I love you. I love you so much, I never want to lose you. I love you._ He tests it in his head as they lie together between kiss after kiss, with Harry gone soft in him and half a body still waiting to be incinerated on the floor.

Everything Louis could ever need in his life he’s got right here, and it takes every ounce of power left in him to not spoil it with the deadliest three words he’s ever known.

“You’re incredible.” He says instead, when his heart has calmed down enough to bear the beauty.

“You are.” Harry counters, kissing the tip of his nose like he always does when they cuddle up.

“I know.” Louis smiles, making Harry grin back at him, “I just want to make sure you do… Know that you’re incredible, I mean. And I can’t believe I’m this lucky.”

“Help me clean up, lucky duck.” Harry teases, rolling them over to finally pull himself out and find his clothes. Louis’s are dripping wet with blood, so that’s a bit of a problem. He rinses himself down with the hose while Harry dumps the body pieces into the burner, and slips into Harry’s clothes instead. Harry’s a bit bigger than him so it all hangs loose, but he’s closer to their victim’s size so Harry will just have to borrow those jeans for now.

“Gemma wants to know if I’m coming home tonight.” Harry says, staring at the lit screen of his phone a moment later.

“Are you?” Louis wonders. He never has before, but Harry should know that he’s more than welcome to share a bed at Louis’s home if the mood ever strikes.

It takes him another minute to decide, but finally he says, “Nah. I really don’t want to leave you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos & comments always appreciated! :-)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Nouis teamed up to background check Gemma, Harry and Louis shared some more of their own past, bonded over killing together and having some amazing sex the end
> 
> This is another long one so enjoy my dears xx

Harry wakes tangled in the navy sea of Louis’s down comforter all alone. He stretches out and yawns, feeling slightly hungover in a way he can’t quite place. Maybe just from the high of killing with Louis, of tasting him and feeling him and loving him. Harry’s used to his own emotions; considers himself lucky he isn’t missing the crucial part of his brain that separates him from others who kill with robotic emptiness, but he isn’t used to feeling this much all the time. It seems Louis just has that effect on him.

He flips the covers off and heaves himself out of bed, padding down the hall after slipping his briefs back on. Downstairs in the kitchen is where he expects to find Louis cooking breakfast, and he’s only half wrong.

There’s a cheesy omelette resting in the leftover heat of the skillet from where the stove was clearly just turned off, and a glass of orange juice dripping with condensation sitting on the counter next to it. He’s got no idea where Louis is or how quickly he’ll be back, but closer examination of the steaming food looks like sausage, spinach, and peppers. The smell is taunting him.

The fact that Louis made it for himself makes Harry sure couldn’t possibly be anything lethal in it. The fact that it’s just sitting there while Louis isn’t around makes him entertain the idea that it might also be the perfect trap.

But Louis wouldn’t do that to him, right? Their affection is real. It has to be, because Harry couldn’t deal with finding out it’s all an act. He’s always been good at reading people, especially the dangerous ones, and he thinks it’s pretty safe to say that Louis cares about him. Of course he’s not trying to kill Harry anymore.

Then again, Louis has carried on fake relationships with numerous victims of his. All of whom probably trusted him completely, at least enough to believe he would never hurt them, and look where it got them.

So Harry may always have a reason to second guess himself, but wondering about it daily is becoming exhausting. He decides in that moment that it’s all or nothing now. If he plans to stay in this for good, whether Louis is in it for the long haul with him or not, Harry can’t keep avoiding his cooking forever.

He quickly scans the room over to make sure Louis isn’t watching him somewhere. He wouldn’t be able to do it with those eyes on him, distracting his attention, influencing him towards taking a bite, making him doubt himself. The first time has to be his own conscious decision.

He reaches in and tears off a corner of egg, sniffing it first as if he’d be able to detect any toxins mixed in anyway. He pokes his tongue out for just a little taste, and then rolls his eyes at his own self to just get on with it. He pops the little bite in his mouth and chews. It’s just the right amount of soft and salty and spicy and Harry is in heaven. Is there anything Louis can’t do with the utmost perfection in the universe?

“Am I hallucinating right now? Did you slip something in my juice while I wasn’t looking?” Louis’s joking voice comes from behind him and Harry drops his hands to his sides, swallowing fast like he’s been caught red-handed doing something incriminating.

Louis stands in the doorway with his arms crossed as he leans against the frame, smirking at the sight before him.

“Must you always do that?” Harry grumbles.

“Do what?”

“Joke about poison like it’s no big deal.” He says.

“Yes. It’s fun to watch your face.” Louis grins, nodding towards the pan behind him. “How is it?”

“Amazing. I’m having an internal crisis.” Harry admits.

Louis laughs, unfolding his arms to come closer and stand on his toes to kiss Harry’s cheek. “I’d be happy to make you one too if you want.”

Harry considers it, deciding maybe that’s still crossing the line for now. “Can we share this one instead?”

“If you’d rather.” Louis says with a shrug. “Do you want to drink from the same glass, too?”

“If you’ll let me.” Harry nods. He can tell it bothers Louis that he still won’t fully trust anything served to him by his own boyfriend, but at least he’s open to taking baby steps all of a sudden.

“Sharing is caring.” Louis smiles, opening the fridge for the jug of juice to top off his glass for both of them.

He slips the spatula underneath the pocket of eggs to flip it onto a decorative plate and set it on the island, going back to fish a couple of forks out of the drawer as well. Then he pushes the plate towards Harry, looking expectantly at him like he truly can’t believe what he just witnessed and needs another example for reinforcement.

“You next.” Harry urges.

Louis rolls his eyes, but uses the side of his fork to cut off a piece and place it on his tongue, folding his lips around the utensil and pulling it out slowly before he chews. Harry watches the bob of his throat when he swallows, and then because Louis must be that attuned to him already; he washes it down with a gulp of juice before Harry can press that too.

“You’ll literally hand me a weapon and tell me to go nuts, yet you have to be coddled into just enjoying a nice meal together.” The mental eye-roll is clear in his tone.

“Sorry.” Harry says, finally cutting his own piece off and speaking with a mouth full, “Tools are my area of expertise. Food is yours.”

“Good to know you trust me enough to put your life in my hands, then.” Louis comments.

“I do.” Harry says. “That’s exactly why I have to be so careful.”

“Need I remind you which one of us actually has tried to kill the other once before?”

“You said you wanted me dead too.” Harry counters.

“Wanted.” Louis says. “Then I really got to know you, and now I just plain want you.”

Harry stuffs his mouth full with another bite in an attempt to avoid where this conversation is headed, the memory of last night rushing through his brain at the reminder. Of course he wants Louis too, but rarely ever in that way. The intimate way that’s apparently so essential to making relationships last, that Harry can only deliver when Louis is, in his own words, bloody and dangerous.

It’s not as if Louis isn’t gorgeous beyond all rhyme or reason. He’s dainty and delicate in his natural state, tanned all over and soft around the edges, with delicious legs and an ass that Harry has literally killed for. His hair is always perfect even when it’s a mess, he’s got eyes to swim in for days, and with or without scruff he’s still got this angelic sort of beauty about him that could keep anyone in their right mind captivated till the end of time.

It’s just that Harry’s never had much of a sex drive at all, or even a romantic drive for that matter; he’s always had more important urges to worry about satisfying than those. He doesn’t feel the need to get into Louis when he sees him looking nice or even half naked and purposely flaunting what he’s been blessed with to all the world. Harry always wants to kiss him, sure, but that’s about where it stops.

Until Louis gets into that feral headspace of his and suddenly becomes irresistible.

So he’s secretly terrified that Louis, who’s so aesthetically pleasing and prides himself on his desirability, will leave him when he learns how very deep-rooted this issue is.

Harry doesn’t even understand it himself. He’s had sex with other people before, but none of them really meant anything to him. It was always just another attempt to fit in by doing what everyone else around him does, but Louis is a complete game changer. Harry can barely even try to restrain from the primal explosion that rages inside from watching Louis exert his twisted power over a victim, and apparently, Harry’s own body too.

It’s not a killing thing, it’s a _Louis_ killing thing.

 

“Talk to me.” Louis says, breaking Harry’s train of thought as he scoops the last bite of their breakfast into his mouth.

“S’embarrassing.” Harry mumbles lowly, hanging his head a bit so some of his hair falls in front of him, shielding his face from staring into deep blue.

“Tell me anyway. I wanna know what’s on your mind.”

Louis has seen him in his absolute worst states; thirsty and threatening, tortured and despaired from the open wounds of his past, even weakened to a point of sexual submission, and for some reason chooses to stick around. Maybe it’s getting easier to share things with him because in the back of Harry’s mind he’s waiting for the day Louis will have seen enough and finally be scared away. Better sooner than later, right?

“I think you were right about me, um… only being… in the mood… after a kill.” Harry says to the floor at his feet. “I’ve never had this with anyone before, and I’m so afraid to mess it up. If I’m not enough for you…”

Louis is silent for a few beats, and Harry can hear the compassion in his voice when he speaks again.

“You’re so cute.” He says, breathy and light like he’s on the verge of a chuckle.

“I’m serious, Lou. I want to make you happy.” Harry recoils inwardly, spilling his guts without restraint now. “If there’s something I can’t do for you… I mean. That hurts me. I wish I could. I want to be more for you, but I just—I’m just too messed up. I hate it.”

“Harry,” Louis says gently, taking a few steps closer to reach out and tip Harry’s face up by the chin to meet his eyes again. “We kill people for a living. Of course there’s gonna be some issues between us. It’s not just you. We’re both beyond fucked.”

“You’re perfect.” Harry argues.

“My boyfriend will hardly even eat the food I’ve touched because I poison anyone I’ve ever sort-of dated in my life.” Louis counters. “I haven’t had a family in ages, and when I did it was nothing to be proud of anyway. Alberto is the closest I ever got to a real friend, and he’s paid to have my back… I’m far from perfect, babe. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, too.”

“You’re going to get bored of me if I can’t… you know,” Harry says. God, is he really so sex repulsed that he can’t even say it without cringing unless there’s blood around? “Make you feel good. Like you said.”

“Harry, there’s nothing wrong with not wanting sex. Whether it’s just less than most people, or only under certain circumstances, or even not at all, ever. You’re perfectly normal in that aspect, whatever your preference is.” Louis says, pushing a lock of hair behind one of Harry’s ears. “If the worst thing about you is that you only want to fuck after a kill, I’d still say I’m the luckiest bastard in the world to have you.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” Harry says.

“Hand to God, I swear I’m not.” Louis refutes, holding his free hand palm-out towards the air. “Honestly, I’d be okay if you never wanted it at all. I’m here for you, not your dick. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice perk, but I don’t need it to be happy. _You_ make me happy, and I’ll never get bored of that.”

“Really?” Harry checks in disbelief.

From what he’s observed over the years, he always thought sex was expected to be part of a relationship, always sort of dreaded having to put up with it to seem normal. He hoped maybe he’d be able to find someone who could change that; make him want to fuck all the time like the rest of the world, but never even considered the possibility of finding someone who might understand his feelings over their own needs.

“Really, really.” Louis says, like Shrek. Lightening the mood like he does, because he knows how to not take things so seriously all the time, where Harry is just the opposite.

He caves, lightening underneath Louis’s powerful gaze and Louis smiles softly back at him, having earned the reaction he was aiming for.

“Feels good to hear you say that.” Harry says, heart gone all warm and fuzzy inside.

“I never want you to be afraid of telling me what you’re not comfortable with. If it’s not right for you, it’s not right for me either.” Louis assures him, standing on his toes for a quick kiss of reassurance.

“Besides, it’s fucking hot when you do get going. You’re like a dog in heat, all wild and frenzied with no control. I definitely have zero qualms about waiting for something that’s going to be that level of worth it every time.”

Harry feels himself go absolutely red all over. It’s still too easy for Louis to make him do that.

“Well, you’re really fucking hot when you’re busy killing.” Harry says. “If you could see yourself all powerful and still hungry for more, you’d lose it too.”

“Good thing there’s no mirror in that kill room, then. At least one of us has to be able to take charge and keep you from busting a nut before we can properly get to it.” Louis quips, clearing their empty plates from the counter to rinse it off in the sink.

Harry’s lips curve into a subtle, half-smile. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

“As if it’s some kind of chore.” Louis writes it off as no big deal, but to Harry it means the entire world.

 

**

 

Once upon a time Louis swore he’d never let this happen to himself again.

Then Harry came along, and now he’s got this beautiful man standing in his kitchen nearly naked and utterly glowing in the morning light, strangely endearing as he opens himself up enough to confide in Louis about his deepest fears and insecurities, and some part of Louis can’t help but curse himself for getting into this mess in the first place.

He shouldn’t have latched onto Harry so immediately from the moment he caught sight of him. He shouldn’t have blinded himself to the possibilities so much that he let himself be trapped both literally and figuratively by Harry’s eyes and his lips and the words that tripped so stiffly out of them. He shouldn’t have let himself be deluded by the fact that Harry’s a killer, as if falling in love with him would be guaranteed to turn out well in the end just because they have something in common. In hindsight, that was probably closer to a recipe for disaster than some kind of miracle in disguise.

He’s seen enough hurt and deception in relationships to know that happiness doesn’t last forever. Soulmates aren’t real. Love doesn’t mean a fucking thing when it comes to personal needs and self-preservation, and yet here Louis is, giving everything he’s got to Harry and more, so desperate to be truly loved back for once in his life that he’d do absolutely anything to make that smile alight Harry’s face and hopefully help him see that Louis could be everything he’s looking for.

He should do it. Now that Harry’s faltered enough to taste Louis’s food, he should harness his favorite fatality and just run away again. He should take it a step further and chain Harry up in a reverse deja-vu moment and give him what he deserves for getting this whole thing between them started in the first place. Should end it all now, before it blows up in his face and he ends up as the one left raw and infected in his attempt to pick up the jagged pieces of what they had and find some sense of self again.

When he first suspected Ben might be messing around behind his back, that’s when he first considered he may actually be capable of taking a human life. He’d always wondered what it would be like before, always been tempted in the heat of the moment when he was seething in the solitude of his closet-sized room. He used to think about what it would be like to wrap his hands around his biological father’s neck, or push a blade through his chest, or less obviously, slip something into his sour drinks that would hopefully be written off as severe alcohol poisoning or a heart attack of old age.

Looking back now, he probably could’ve gotten away with it, and he regrets not having the guts to try. He was too young then and killing was only an abstract idea, not a reachable reality. Only when his suspicions about Ben started to set in did he start to entertain the possibility of getting away with it. He did his research. He’d already spent his fair share of time lusting after what those in the media had already tasted, but with Ben he dug deeper, really learned about every which way someone could possibly take another person’s life, and settled on poison as the most rational.

He probably would’ve done it at some point anyway. Ben was good to him before they were married, but almost immediately after the wedding bells faded, everything seemed to go downhill. He didn’t make Louis feel beautiful or wanted like he had before. His compliments turned into criticisms, cuddles into late nights at work, until it got to a point where he barely even looked at Louis with light in his eyes anymore, let alone touched him or said I love you on a regular basis.

Louis was already thinking about it at that point. He could silently kill Ben, pretend to be the grieving husband for a few months, then take his inherited fortune and move on to get a fresh start after the tragically sudden passing of his beloved husband.

Then he had his suspicions confirmed one night after some snooping, and he was just. So. Angry. After all he’d put up with from their two years of shitty marriage, the absolute nerve of him. Louis had naively hoped to find something that convinced him otherwise of what he’d suspected; something to talk him out of it rather than push him into it, but Ben proved Louis was right all along. And there was nothing rational or calculated about it. He was flooded with hurt and betrayal and anger and humiliation, and he just wanted it to end once and for all. He acted on impulse, something he seemed to do way too often in his life. Marrying Ben in the first place was an impulse; anything to get him out of the house of horrors where he spent his wasted childhood.

Maybe not entirely wasted though, if it was only preparing him to become the person he is today. This person who grew up around violence and rage and acting on it; someone who thirsts for revenge and salvation in the form of still-hearts and bloodshed; someone who could capture Harry’s attention in a way that no one else ever could before.

He couldn’t do that to Harry though. Feels like he logically should, as if history hasn’t shown him time and time again that nothing good can come of this, but Harry is different. He doesn’t deserve to die, and even if he did Louis still wouldn’t want to be the one to end him. Couldn’t bear the ache in his heart if Harry ever looked at him with the betrayal Louis remembers feeling all those lifetimes ago. Couldn’t live with himself if he had to watch the blood drain from Harry’s body or witness the decline of his health while the toxins worked their way through his system. Feels his eyes sting with the threat of fucking tears at just the thought of it.

Louis can either completely shut himself off to things or put every ounce of his whole being into them. There is no in between. So no matter what he knows the logical answer is in this situation, disassociating from Harry is simply not an option anymore. What a tragic shame.

“Come out on the boat with me later.” He says, breaking his own dangerous train of thought.

“Is that a question or a demand?” Harry asks. Apparently he only likes being bossed around in certain situations.

“Just a thought.” Louis shrugs. “You can invite Niall and Gemma, too. Even Liam and Sophia if they want to ditch the shop for a minute. We could make a day of it.”

“Niall and Gemma?” Harry’s brows rise, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Better than.” Louis laughs, “Which is why I’m in the mood to be friendly like you want. Or wanted?”

“No no, I still want you all to get along, I just… can tell you’re not into it, so I wasn’t going to force it anymore.” Harry says.

“Well, thank you for considering my feelings, but now I’m considering yours.” He says, never mind that he and Niall have actually been bonding a bit over this whole secretly-investigating-Gemma-behind-Harry’s-back thing lately, but obviously Harry can’t know about that just yet.

“I’ll do my best to get on their good sides if it’s what you really want. We’ll even take the good boat out this time.”

“There’s a good boat?” Harry somehow perks up and pouts all at once, and Louis is enchanted by how obliviously adorable he is in everything he does. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

The “good boat” is only slightly larger than the one for casual use, and the only reason it’s considered better is because it has a pool on deck, and Alberto says it steers easier. Louis bought his first boat on a whim before he really knew what he was looking for, and the second when he hadn’t made a big purchase for a while and just needed to get it out of his system. He only keeps them both because of the satisfaction that comes with being able to say he owns two yachts. No big deal.

“Well that’s because you don’t want me to spoil you.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Make up your mind. I could show you things you never even dreamed of beyond just the sea if you’d let me.”

“The good boat is fine for now. How soon do I get to see it?” Harry brushes it off, but the excitement is clear as the dimples on his cheeks.

 

*

 

“Dude. You didn’t tell me your boyfriend was loaded.” Gemma gawks, jaw dropped as the group files onto the yacht later that day, the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on them from above.

Louis grins at how easy it is to get people to like you when you have money. Except for Niall, who still hasn’t warmed enough towards Louis to be comfortable with addressing his past conquests yet. It took him infinitely too long to even use the word ‘murderer’ in relation to his closest friend though, so any sort of progress is a good sign in Louis’s book.

He actually quite enjoys Niall’s company, but he’s not sure how the quirky Irishman feels about him at this point. Wherever he stands at this point still beats unbridled hatred anyway.

“Money doesn’t matter. I’m not with him because he’s rich.” Harry grumbles, contradicting his three-thousand-dollar floral patterned YSL shirt and eight-hundred-dollar gold satin shorts. In combination with the leather sandals and accessories he’s chosen today, he must be wearing at least 12k in one outfit alone. And Louis couldn’t think of a better way to spend a single penny of it.

“Well yeah, but it sure is a nice perk. You seem to be reaping the benefits.” Gemma says shamelessly. “Louis, you don’t happen to have a cute single brother you can set me up with like, yesterday, do you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t come from wealth.” Louis says, only fabricating a little bit when he adds, “I made my fortune the old fashioned way. By finding my own rich man to mooch off of and claiming the majority of his assets in the messy divorce.”

“Brains, beauty, and bucks.” Gemma nods towards Harry, “Better hang onto this one.”

“I intend to.” Harry smiles, slipping an arm around Louis’s waist to pull him closer and kiss the top of his head.

“Make yourselves at home.” Louis welcomes Harry’s friends. “There’s a bar on the lower level, stocked full. Snacks in the fridge too, but don’t fill up cause I’m making lunch later. And Gemma, you’re welcome to observe or help out for that if you want.”

“I’ll be there!” Gemma yells, already halfway down the stairs to explore with Niall in tow.

Apparently booze is the secret for getting Niall to lighten up a bit, cause four pints in he’s laughing at everything that comes out of Louis’s mouth and following him around like a mouse through a maze. When Louis cannonballs into the pool after having laid in the sun for long enough, Niall makes a splash right behind him, and they both pop back up with smiles cause they splashed Harry, Gemma, and Alberto who were content sipping their drinks on the deck undisturbed.

Harry sets his down and jumps in to retaliate, lifting Louis over his shoulder and throwing him into the deep end, and Gemma becomes his backup when he finds that the waves Niall and Louis start making together are too much for one person to withstand alone.

Louis and Niall dominate the siblings at chicken, but Harry manages to even the score when he figures out that Louis was cheating at Marco Polo by sitting on the edge of the pool. He pulls Louis in by his leg and attacks him with tickles to his side underneath the water.

“Fine, fine. I give up! You win!” Louis cries through his laughter when they surface again, as Harry refuses to let up on his aching abdomen.

“That’s right, I win.” Harry’s smug in his satisfaction, finally halting his assault to kiss Louis’s dripping lips. He feels like he could spend the rest of his life floating on the water without much effort if Harry weren’t there to keep him anchored to the pool floor and the rest of the world instead.

It’s time for lunch though, so after clearing the pool with a few more of their all-encompassing kisses, everyone is dried off and bathing in the chairs on the deck again.

“I think I feel like fajitas today. How does that sound?” Louis asks Gemma in the kitchen, already pulling ingredients out of the fridge to set them on the counter. He figures it’s something quick and easy for a beginner who doesn’t know their way around a kitchen, and it’s not like he prepared anything special ahead of time anyway.

“Whatever suits you, oh great kitchen guru.” Gemma sbrings her hands together in front of her chest to bow slightly towards him.

Louis smiles as he shows her around, telling her every little detail from how big to slice the raw chicken and steak tips, information about what each seasoning does to bring out the flavor, and letting her stir the chunks in the pan while he watches on.

“Is one of these the special ingredients you mentioned before?” Gemma wonders while they watch it sizzle.

“I’m afraid not,” Louis says, having a mental laugh. “Don’t know if you’re ready for that yet. We’ll keep it simple for now.”

“Sure, sure, you don’t want me to outshine you on my first try, I get it.”

“So,” He changes the subject, deciding small talk is the best way to find the most basic information about somebody. And to get more acquainted with them or whatever. “Any luck finding a new place to stay yet?”

“Harry and I have been to check out some nice ones, but nothing I could see myself living in so far.” She shrugs.

“I could send you some listings if you want? I don’t know how up to date they are, but I just moved here not too long ago myself, so I still have a bunch saved in a file somewhere.” He offers.

“I think your idea of an affordable home might be a bit out of my price range.” Gemma laughs.

“I have lived in average buildings before. I like to check out all kinds of places before I settle somewhere new. It just turned out that the one I fell in love with here happened to be a bit grandiose.” Louis explains. Of course he wouldn’t suggest a bunch of mansions and beach bungalows to take a look at on her budget. Regardless of popular stereotypes, riches and rudeness aren’t mutually exclusive.

“You move a lot then?” Gemma asks while Louis gets started chopping the onions and peppers next to her.

“Every few years or so.” He shrugs, “I’m like a city shopper. I try on places for size and then move on when I’ve outgrown them. Maybe I’ll outgrow that someday too, if I ever find a place that really feels like home.”

“How’s Miami speaking to you, then? Think you’ll live here for much longer?” She prys.

Louis has to pause and think on that one. He’s used to skipping town after a couple years, but only because he took that long to mess with his victims before. Here, there is no victim to measure his time left. That leaves his options completely open for the first time in maybe ever.

“I’ve grown attached.” He says, meanwhile his mind is ticking Harry, Harry, Harry. “I can see myself sticking around for a long time. Maybe longer than usual for me, who knows?”

“Cause of my brother?” She teases, looking over at him with the tiniest hint of slyness in her smirk. He expects her to laugh it off or change the subject right after, but when she keeps staring at him it becomes clear that she’s waiting for an honest answer. Probably doing some protective sibling vetting of her own.

“I mean, I do love the city itself, but it would be a boldfaced lie to say he doesn’t top the list of reasons why.” Louis downplays it best he can while still making it known that yes, he does truly care for Harry that much. Maybe Harry could even end up being his home, and God isn’t that the cheesiest thought he’s ever had in his life?

As if looking right into his mind, she says, “A word of advice? Good homes aren’t made from fragile material. Porcelain and tissue paper can’t withstand the weather.”

“Harry isn’t a fragile person.” Louis argues almost automatically. He can’t even pretend to fight the need to stand up for him, defend him, protect him.

“All people are fragile people.” Gemma hums with all the wisdom in the world. “I’m learning that the hard way right now. Not trying to say my brother is bad for you, just… at the end of the day, you’re really all you’ve got.”

“Cosigned wholeheartedly.” Louis agrees this time. Boy does he understand the weight of that reality.

Even now, when he wakes in the middle of the night with Harry snoozing next to him under the covers, Louis can’t fight the feeling of not being enough, the ache of haunting memories, and all the things beyond his control. His sadness is his alone, his pain no one’s to bear but his own, and the same goes for Harry as well. He can keep Louis out all he wants, but even when Harry lets him in Louis is powerless to fight in the battle against his demons, and vice versa. Solitude is the only sure thing he knows.

“So where’s your home, then? Here, or where you came from, or possibly somewhere else…” Louis asks, deflecting the attention.

“Colorado.” She says. No elaboration.

“Is that where your family’s at?”

“Harry is my only family left.” She sighs, pulling off a tiny bite of tortilla to chew on slowly like she needs a distraction.

“You’ve traveled quite a bit to find him.” Louis speaks the observation.

She’s smarter than he anticipated, though. It’s not as if he expected she’d be dim or anything, but he didn’t plan for her to be so clued in to the point where her next statement catches him way off guard.

“I know what you’re doing.” She says, staring through him with contradicting placidity.

“What’s that?” He plays ignorant.

“You and Niall, trying to get me to talk about my past like you’re looking for clues or something.” She accuses. “It’s fine; I would do the same thing if I were in your position. It’s just, can we stop pretending it’s some kind of secret?”

“How do you kn—”

“You just want to make sure my brother’s safe, and I get that. I could be anyone, right? Who says I’m actually Gemma Styles, or that I’m not here to wring him dry or something worse?” She rambles on, “He just brought me back into his life without any fuss though, so you’re worried about him. He always was too nice for his own good.”

How she figured that out based on a few friendly questions only raises more flags, considering it didn’t take Louis more than a couple conversations assess that Harry was looking into him, too. You know exactly what to look for when you’re always on guard.

“Sorry.” He says, sans any real remorse. “It’s nothing against you personally, I think you’re quite cool to be honest. I just felt it needed official confirmation.”

“Do I pass the test?” She wonders, like she’d have any reason not to. From what Louis’s heard, her record is clean as a whistle. So the answer should be a given, if there really isn’t anything to hide.

“With flying colors.” Louis smiles, exaggerating a bit for the sake of mending the awkward crack. “Thanks for uh, being so understanding. I would’ve expected a hellish reaction from anyone else.”

Gemma just shrugs. “This is not even in the same realm as some of the worst things I’ve dealt with in life. Just call it quits, okay? And we’ll be fine.”

“Alright then, consider us fine.” Louis lies, extending his arm for an amicable handshake to seal the deal.

Gemma looks at it for a moment, then back at him to stretch her own lips into a smile and open her arms wide for a hug.

 

**

 

“So am I still your best friend or has Louis wiggled his way into that position yet?” Harry grins, plopping himself down next to Niall with a full belly, while Gemma and Louis keep chattering about easy quesadilla recipes or something a few chairs down.

“Oh, come off it. Louis and I aren’t even close.” Niall rolls his eyes, throwing back another sip of beer in denial.

“Could’ve fooled me. You’re like a couple of four year olds together.” Harry teases.

“Whatever, so you were right about him not being so bad.” Niall shrugs.

“Not so bad?”

“Fine, he’s cool.” Niall groans. “I like him. I approve. You win.”

“Thank you for giving him a chance.” Harry smiles, having heard exactly what he was hoping. Maybe it’s just the beer talking, but Harry won’t let him take it back once he’s sober anyway. Whatever the reason, he’s proved that the two of them can overcome their major differences enough to be friends after all.

“As long you’re happy, then I guess it’s worth it.” Niall bears a false begrudging look.

Like Louis’s sixth sense went off at the mention of his name, he interrupts to start a game of tag by tapping Niall on the shoulder and dashing halfway down the length of the pool.

“I said you’re it, Niall. What are you waiting for?” He yells, turning around to huff in disappointment. Harry looks over at Niall, just as expectant. Louis did say he was it.

Niall rolls his eyes, but sets his drink down to get up and chase Louis around the pool without another thought. The sight of them running and laughing and messing with each other like they’ve been doing all day is so heartwarming Harry feels a pang in his gut that tells him this happiness can’t possibly last forever.

“Hey, Gem. Having fun?” Harry asks as she comes over to join him, watching Niall chase Louis down the stairs leading to the kitchen.

“Oh absolutely, it’s such a beautiful day.” She smiles at him, but something’s off about it. Like she’s trying way too hard to force it to be real.

“Always is in Miami.” Harry says, knowing by now that she’s the type who likes to get things off her chest all at once, and it’ll be coming any minute.

“Do you ever feel, like… guilty about everything you’ve got?” She asks shortly after, sounding like she’s still trying to formulate her thoughts. “I used to feel that way a lot with my family, but now that things have fallen apart again I’m just like, ‘oh well, this make perfect sense. This seems more like what I deserve.’ And I can’t see it going anywhere but further downhill, you know?”

Please, he scoffs to himself, I don’t know how to stop feeling guilty.

He doesn’t answer for a long time, getting sucked into a vision of his life possibly ending up like his mother’s someday. Dragged off to prison in front of his own family, having to look his parents or even Gemma in the eyes and admit who he is to them, living out the rest of his days behind the confinements of an iron cage.

He’d rather die, honestly. Maybe that’s how he’ll end up going down if he’s ever caught someday. He’ll just refuse to let himself be booked, fight back with the arresting officers until they stop showing mercy on him. It would beat dealing with the shame of what he’s done in the eyes of his loved ones and the rest of the world.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.” Gemma breaks his trance, “I’m glad things worked out for you, really. At least one of us should have something good come of all this… I guess I just need to stop looking for ways that we can relate to each other again. Things are so different now.”

Harry might not be able to be totally honest with her, but he’ll always try his best to make her feel even a little bit less alone.

“Yes. I do feel guilty sometimes.” He admits, softness in his voice. “Like, what have I done to deserve all the blessings I’ve got since mom left? Real parents who love me and treat me right, a friend like Niall who always has my back, a nice home in a beautiful place I love… and Louis, too. What on Earth have I done in my life to be worthy of a catch like him?”

“Do you worry about losing it all someday?” Gemma feeds off his honesty. “Things were great with mom too, until they suddenly weren’t… and now it feels like my life is always just going to be a buildup to the dramatic downfall again and again.”

“Yeah.” Harry simply nods in agreement, and the silence of the slight breeze in the air settles over them to reflect. Harry briefly wonders where Niall and Louis ran off to all of a sudden.

“So how do you deal with it? Feeling that way for so long?” Gemma wonders.

Killing people. That’s how I deal with anything.

“I just try to count my blessings while they’re still here.” He says instead. “That’s really all you can do, right? No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop things from going to shit if they’re meant to. So just enjoy it while you can, and do what you have to do when the time comes.”

Gemma looks over at him with the slightest of smiles.

“I’ve really missed you, ya know.” He can feel the genuine warmth in her voice.

He didn’t used to spend any time thinking of her at all if he could prevent it, but now that she’s back in his life it’s felt so easy to love her just like they were never torn apart at all.

“I missed you too… I’m glad to have this again.” He smiles, reaching over to squeeze her knee in affection.

 

**

 

“Time to close the Gemma Styles file.” Louis says to Niall, when Gemma and Harry are sitting outside to keep their tans going. Louis successfully used the game of tag on the deck to disguise their sneaking off to have the conversation in private.

“We’re just getting started, though. Haven’t even found anything yet.” Niall objects.

“What makes you so sure there’s something to find?”

“You!” Niall says, maybe a bit too loud, but to be fair he hasn’t been without a drink in his hand all afternoon. “I’ve been around Harry long enough to know that a hunch is never just a hunch with your kind.”

“I’m not Harry, Ni. Maybe I was wrong.” Louis says.

“No, I don’t think so.” Niall shakes his head. “Still not sure what it is, but something’s up with this chick. She spun a whole story about a family that kicked her to the curb, and these so-called people aren’t connected to her in any legal way at all. What’s up with that?”

“Wait, what? You told me you couldn’t find anything on her.”

“Exactly.” Niall says, “Nothing. No husband, no kids, no job, no assets, definitely no criminal charges, not even so much as a receipt in her name from anywhere in the US. Gemma Styles doesn’t even fucking exist in this country as far as me or anyone else is concerned.”

Louis knows better than anyone what that means. He can make himself disappear at the drop of a hat, but even his birth name and all his aliases still have proper and clean identities in the legal system. To prevent something like this from ever happening.

“She knows we’re looking into her.” Louis says, trying his best to give her the benefit of the doubt for Harry’s sake. She might have something to hide, but that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. If her husband and children really did abandon her, it would make sense to want to start over after that, right?

“So? Let her know. S’not gonna stop me from digging anyway.” He scoffs, chugging down a sip from the open can grasped in his hand.

Louis hesitates, his sudden nerves eased a little by Niall’s determination to crack this case. “Just leave me out of it from now on. I don’t want to risk her telling Harry about my involvement too.”

“Louis and Harry, sitting in a tree…” Niall teases.

“Remind me again why you’re single?” Louis jokes back.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Niall laughs.

 

**

 

Harry excuses himself after hearing Niall yell something beyond interpretation. Something in him just keeps nagging at him to get up and check on them, though he can’t come up with a logical reason as to why. He wanders down the stairs to join them, and stops halfway down when he catches part of a candid discussion in the kitchen.

“—doesn’t even fucking exist in this country as far as me or anyone else is concerned.”

“She knows we’re looking into her.” Louis says, and Harry feels the beginnings of his blood start to boil. If they’re talking about who he thinks they are, Harry will never forgive him for this.

“So? Let her know. S’not gonna stop me from digging anyway.”

Louis doesn’t respond right away, but when he does it confirms the drop in Harry’s gut.

“Just leave me out of it from now on. I don’t want to risk her telling Harry about my involvement too.”

Immediately, the firearms go off an a rampage within him. He’s seeing red, can’t even begin to suppress the urge when he storms into the kitchen. His head is just alight with the raging heat of deception.

“I knew there was something fishy about you two getting along so well all of a sudden.” He interrupts, despite that he truly had no idea this was going on behind his back. Something felt off, but being who he is, he tried to ignore it. The people he cares most about would never try to hurt him, or so he though.

For how long, exactly? Since Gemma arrived, right after Harry made it clear that he didn’t want this to happen? Recently, like the past few days? Is it the real reason why Louis acted like he wanted Gemma to come along today? Just so the two of them could poke around in her life for their own selfish agenda?

They’re both frozen wide-eyed in shock for a moment. Niall tips back another gulp of his beer, and Louis tries to manage a response that will cover his own ass.

“Harry, I—”

“Save it, Louis. You went behind my back to investigate my sister after I told you more than once that I didn’t want to betray her like that.” Harry calls him out. “Don’t fucking lie to me right now, I swear.”

“Louis came to tell me he wanted to call it off, H.” Niall butts in to try sticking up for him. Harry is really not in a space to hear what either of them has to say right now.

“Oh, fucking brilliant. Never mind then, I actually don’t feel undermined by this whole thing at all.” Harry snaps, crossing his arms to keep himself from literally bursting out his skin with the fury stirring in him.

Louis lied to keep this hidden, he wonders how many times? Niall is just as much a part of it, sure, but Harry and Louis aren’t supposed to keep secrets. How could they ever expect to have a lasting relationship between two people like them without being absolutely real with each other? Wasn’t that the point of all this in the first place? That there doesn’t have to be any falsity when they’re together?

Finding out about that cuts deeper than if Louis had just fucking poisoned him already. At least he would’ve seen that coming.

“I made a mistake, Harry.” Louis tries, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place, I know, but I was just looking out for you. We both are. I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”

“You lied to me, Lou. You, of all people, you know how important honesty is between us. How the fuck am I supposed to trust you now?” Harry doesn’t yell often, but he can hear his own voice teetering on the brink of it with every passing moment.

“You can trust me to always have your best interest at heart, even when you don’t yourself.” Louis argues, “That’s all we were trying to do. You didn’t believe she would hide anything from you either, but—”

“I said fucking save it!” Harry growls. “I don’t want to know what you found. I want you out of my sight.”

“Harry,” Louis starts, stepping towards him as if Harry isn’t ready to fucking fight anything in within his reach.

“I mean it, Louis. Unless you want me to actually start breaking things, you’ll go upstairs and tell Alberto to turn this ship around and bring me home as soon as humanly possible.” Harry threatens, trying his very best to stay zen enough to not act on the storm inside his chest just yet.

“Well now you’re just being irrational. You should at least listen—”

He doesn’t get it. Harry can’t listen rationally right now, because nothing about his head is functioning normally for him. He just needs to release this anger, and there’s only one way he can do that, and he won’t be able to give anything his full attention until he can settle it.

“Louis!” Harry balls his hands into fists, his muscles so tense his nails dig painfully into the skin of his palms. He stomps his foot so hard the boat sways, and something makes a thud on the deck above them.

“Is everything alright down here?” Gemma pokes her head down a moment later.

“Fine! We’re on our way up!” Niall calls up the stairs to her, lightly pushing Louis from behind to steer him away from the situation before it gets beyond Harry’s control.

Niall has seen him like this only once before, when Sophia was taken from him and Harry was frantic in his search to get her back. He knows that nothing good can come of Harry reaching his breaking point.

“Not you.” Harry says, holding out the palm of his hand to stop Niall in his tracks while Louis continues up the stairs. “As fucking livid as I am with both of you right now, I can’t deal with this on my own.”

“If you want me to apologize for it, I won’t.” Niall stands his ground. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I wouldn’t have helped him if I didn’t feel it was the right thing to do. She’s hiding something, Harry, and you know it could be something worth finding out.”

Harry grits his teeth. No, no, no. He doesn’t want to face this. Can’t face it. Has no idea how to handle the fact that his entire blood line might be fucked beyond belief because of his rotten, wretched mother. Gemma doesn’t deserve whatever she’s dealt with, in secrecy or not. It isn’t fair that they both have to be so broken by someone else’s mistakes.

“I don’t need you to be sorry.” Harry says, “I need you to help me cope.”

“You’re gonna yell at me and then ask me to find you another victim not two minutes later?”

“Niall, please. I’m upset, I’m not ending a friendship.” He explains, calmly as he can muster, “I just need to cool off and you know this is how I do that.”

“What, do you think I’ve just got a list of killers I keep stored away somewhere in case the mood ever strikes you or something?”

“Do you?” Harry asks, genuinely hopeful.

“Of course I don’t!” He almost yells, and then after a pause to assess the depth of Harry’s mood, “Only because I don’t want you to do anything stupid, I might be able to scrounge up something if you give me a minute.”

“A literal minute?” Harry asks, itching, burning, stinging, entirely engulfed by the promise of blood on his hands as soon as possible.

He calculates the time it might take for Niall to find a target with the boat ride back to shore, plus the pick-up and how long it’ll take Harry to get to his kill room depending on where that pick-up is. It all seems so far away. The sun is only starting to set now, and it’ll definitely be dark out by the time he has a victim at his feet. He bites his lip into his mouth, hard.

“Calm down, Hellboy. It depends how lucky you are.” Niall rolls his eyes. “Give me time, is what I mean. I’ll go make some calls.”

“Thank you, love you. Hate you right now, but love you overall.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall grumbles, pulling out his phone and sliding the other kitchen door open to seclude himself on the starboard side while he works.

 

*

 

It’s 21 minutes and 36 seconds later when the boat finally docks, and Harry hasn’t spoken a word to Louis since he caught him scheming behind his back.

“Alright, it’s going to be risky, but it’s the best I could do.” Niall says, “The guys won’t give me much info anymore seeing as I haven’t worked there in ages, but there’s one I know of who was always a right asshole.”

“Asshole isn’t good enough, Ni. I need murderers.” Harry taps his impatient foot on the ground.

“Listen, he is a killer. An asshole one. One of those types who uses their badge to shoot people in supposed self-defense and get away with it. Black Lives Matter and all that.” Niall explains, “One of my buddies mentioned to me that he was in trouble again, who can even count how many since I’ve known him? Regardless, he’s definitely your type.”

“A racist, you mean? You got me a racist cop?” Harry checks, just to make sure he’s hearing right.

He usually tries to avoid people on law enforcement despite the obvious corruption that stinks up the entire system. It’s just too wild to attack someone in a place of power and expect the people they work closely with to let it go like they typically do with less important unsolved cases.

“That’s why I warned you.” Niall says. “I never liked the guy, but working in the same precinct ended up spending way more time with him than I would’ve liked. I can see if he’ll meet me for drinks tonight and then stand him up, so you can nab him when he leaves later on. Hopefully alone. S’ the best I can do right now, so take it or leave it.”

“Take it.” Harry decides on the spot. He wasn’t counting on having to use actual brain power and planning to do this tonight, but whatever. Trying not to glare at Louis from across the deck and avoiding round after round of Gemma’s prying questions has him teetering on the edge of inhumanity.

 

*

 

Curtis Pearson is sedated in his trunk without much effort beyond the fucking eternal hour and half it took for him to leave the bar by himself, and Harry had to safely tail him all the way back to his home before they were finally in a place to not be seen when Harry dragged him back to the Jeep. Two hours 54 minutes since the antsy thirst for blood set in, and Harry can practically taste it in his saliva as he nears his satisfaction.

He’s nearly at the studio when the spite is back to taunt him with his ringing phone again, and it’s Gemma this time. Louis called him four times since the boat this afternoon, but Harry’s been too busy and impatient care. He’s so tempted to ignore it now too, but ultimately knowing his sister might need him is what possesses him to pick up. She hasn’t done anything wrong here.

“Where are you?” She asks, frenzied never mind the fact that he dropped her off at home first thing after getting off the boat. “I need you. Please. Where did you go?”

Of course, he mentally groans. He should’ve just carried out his mission to full completion instead.

He can hear the panic in her voice though, it’s not like she’s making it up.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, “Calm down. Breathe. What’s wrong?”

“Panic attack.” She says. “I can’t be alone right now. It’s making me—I just need someone. What are you doing? Please, can you please come home?”

“I’m a little busy right now, Gem. I can talk you through it.” Harry offers. “Tell me what’s got you all worked up.”

“Harry! I don’t want to do this over the phone! Why are you out so often?” Gemma whines. “I need my little brother.”

He’s been so understand since day one. This isn’t her first freak out that’s for sure, but it’s one that’s come at the worst possible time. He physically cannot just drop what he’s doing to attend to her right now.

“I’ll be back later. I need…” He sighs, thinking on his feet for a way to phrase it, “Some time to take care of my own mental health. You understand that, yeah? I can’t help you if I’m not in my right mind either.”

“Louis? Harry’s not here right now.” Gemma says, not talking to the phone anymore. “I don’t know where he is—no, I don’t know that either. When are you coming back, Harry?”

Jesus fuck. He really doesn’t trust Louis to be alone with her when he had no qualms about digging into her background without permission. Who’s to say that the assumed warning not to harm her will be enough for Louis to keep her safe?

Could he have chosen a worse time to show up unannounced on Harry’s doorstep? There’s a fucking body in the trunk of Harry’s car, but he can’t leave it at the studio without knowing how long it might take to both send Louis home and talk his sister out of her roaring nerves, and he didn’t bring any extra sedative with him so his options have suddenly run dry. This is what he gets for being so reckless.

“Give me like ten minutes.” He grits into the receiver, clicking off shortly after.

He really, really needs to kill somebody soon.

 

*

 

“Leave.” He says to Louis as soon as he slams his car door to confront his waiting boyfriend on the front steps.

He tries to brush past him to get inside, but Louis isn’t having it. And the last thing Harry ever wants to do is lash out and hurt him, so he backs off, pacing his way back and forth in front of the garage while he tries to manage his confliction.

“Will you just talk to me about this, please? We can’t leave things like they were earlier.”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Louis! I’m angry. I can’t—I’m not doing this with you right now.” Harry growls. He rounds the side of the house to get to the backdoor, which is of course locked tight, and Harry can’t get his keys out fast enough before Louis follows him.

“Please, just go! Leave me alone.”

“What does this mean?” Louis asks, quieter now.

Harry can’t even trust if he’s genuinely upset or just faking it to get what he wants anymore, but either way seeing him like this isn’t something Harry knows how to handle around the demon running free inside him.

“It means that your lying and hiding things from me is making it difficult to think right now. It means I need to be left alone to deal with this by myself.” Harry’s voice is curt.

“And what does that mean for us? Are you…” Louis asks, visibly swallowing before he presses on, “This isn’t the end, right? Have I fucked up that badly?”

Harry closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself and silence his mind. Of course he doesn’t want it to be over so soon. He didn’t want it to be over, ever. But that little voice in the back of his head keeps yelling liar, liar, can’t trust a word he says, a thing he does, is he even the person you think you know or has he been hiding his true self from you all along?

“No.” Harry says stiffly. He’s not ready to give up yet, but everything is just too much right now. “We’ll talk when I can actually focus on something other than the need to get my hands messy.”

“Okay.” Louis nods, “Okay. That’s fair enough. I understand. That’s all I needed to hear.”

“Can you go now, please?” It comes out like an order rather than a request.

Louis stares up at him for a few more beats until he finally lets out a deep sigh and turns away, thankfully without another apology before he rounds the house to get back to his car again.

It doesn’t hurt to see him go. Harry just needs to kill someone. Now.

But his sister still needs him, so he’ll have to keep the beast on lockdown for at least a few more minutes while he tries his best to console her own issues and get her off his back.

“Gemma?” He lets himself in, calling for her as he quickly through the silent kitchen and dining area into the living room.

His heart impossibly speeds up while the whole world begins to drag in slow motion all at once with what he finds there.

“I panicked.” Gemma says, looking near the verge of tears as she stares up at him from where she’s crumpled in front of the unconscious body of Harry’s almost-victim.

He seems to still be breathing, but there’s shattered pieces of bright yellow glass from what used to be a lamp on the table beside Harry’s couch shattered all over the floor, and Harry’s head feels just as broken and messy.

“He started pounding on the door and I just—he said he was a cop, and that he was kidnapped— by some guy with long hair, c-covered in tattoos,” She stutters, looking back and forth between the ink on Harry’s arms and the limp figure beside her. Her hands are shaking with the trauma written all over her hysterical face. “And I—he wanted to use the phone, he was gonna call his friends! Cops! I didn’t want—I didn’t know—”

“Gemma, Gem, shh, it’s alright.” Harry reaches forward to comfort her despite the tornado of anxiety thundering in his chest, but she scrambles away until she’s trapped with her back against the bolted shut front door.

“You want to explain what hell is going on here?” She shrieks, hand pressed to her heart to steady its rapid beating.

_No, not even the littlest bit._

How the fuck is he going to talk his way out of this one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos thank you love you all <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Harry and Louis realized how much they trust each other, spent some family & friend time out at sea, but everything fell apart when Harry discovered Nouis's investigation. He was so blinded by his I-need-to-kill-something-right-now urge that he ended up getting himself caught in the act.
> 
> *Warning for detailed animal death here, proceed with caution

//

The first time, Harry was barely ten years old. Far too young to realize it would spark such a significant change in him. In his head, he wouldn’t be able to rid that ugly part of himself until he gave into the urge just once. Maybe it wasn’t even as grand as it seemed. Maybe he built it up too much. All that blood couldn’t really be as enticing as it looked, right? He’d never know for sure until he tried. Just once.

Gemma was his only supervision for a few hours between when the bus dropped them off at home and when mom got home from work later on. Harry waited until he was sure his sister wouldn’t miss him; her friend called the house and they were too busy chattering on about who knows what for her to notice what he was up to.

He searched the yard for hours that afternoon, looking for anything to grab his attention. A bird, a squirrel, a cat, a mouse. He even let his mind run off with the idea of being lucky enough to find a lost dog to toy with, but he came up empty handed either way. Animals never wandered near him very often, and when they did happen to cross his path it was always with vivid fright in a way he couldn’t fully understand back then.

Eventually he’d given up and abandoned his thirst, plopping down in a soft patch of grass with a sigh of defeat. He told himself a creature would come along if he was ever truly meant to act on it someday. Maybe experimentation wasn’t the way to go. Mom always did warn him not to follow those urges until he was ready, so maybe it just wasn’t his time yet.

As the reddened desire continued to cloud his head with unspeakable imagery, his ears caught the sound of a small rustling in the bushes nearby.

When he pressed himself to the ground to peer through the leaves, he spotted a tiny rabbit cowering in the shadows. Too big to be a baby, too small to be a mother yet. As if either factor would’ve stopped his rushing blood anyway. He blinked slowly a few times as he stared at its downy brown fur. It refused to even look back at him.

He ruined his clothes with dirt and scraped up his knees on the rocks and branches as he crawled towards the petrified animal. The only place it had to go was backwards towards the side of the house, but that didn’t stop it from trying to escape. It didn’t seem to understand or accept that it was trapped yet. It just hopped back and forth from one spot to another, meeting nothing but false wood paneling everywhere it turned.

“Shh, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” Harry whispered, lying through his teeth. That’s just what people said to animals to get them to calm down, right?

The bunny didn’t believe him. It jumped and scratched at the ground until the very last second, when Harry’s hand reached out to grab around its stomach and pull it from the poorly chosen hiding spot. He could feel the rapid heartbeat pulsing against his palm, but the little thing was too frozen in fear to attempt struggling anymore.

He held it close to his chest while he shimmied backwards, wiggling his way back into the afternoon light to get a better look at his prize. Its eyes were wide, black, and unfocused, trying not to look directly into the eyes of the monster Harry could feel rumbling awake in its cage. He gripped tightly around its stomach so the animal couldn’t reach his fingers to bite, held it closer to his face, and just watched it panic for a minute.

The thing shook slightly in its helpless terror, surely coming to terms with the eminent danger and pleading for mercy in its own way. Could animals think clearly enough to beg and wish and pray? He did feel a little wrong at the possibility, but he couldn’t just set it free now. Not when this was the closest he’d ever come to actually living out the bloody nightmare in his head so far.

He needed to feel it. See the color melt against his skin. Maybe even taste a little, just out of pure fascination. Maybe his hopes would be wrong and this would end up being absolutely everything he’s ever dreamed of. Maybe it would be even better.

He came prepared, of course. He sat himself crisscross in the grass, holding the bunny securely between his legs. Pulled the pocket knife from his shorts, and braced himself for the defining moment. He’d been lusting over the image of something this magical for so long, he had to savor the anticipation for just a few more beats.

After he did this, he’d finally know what it was like to be a real killer. Maybe he’d understand why mom once confessed to him that she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to.

He held a living creature’s fate in his hand, and the knowledge of that was intoxicating. He aimed the sharp tip of his weapon through the spot where the bunny’s heart was practically pounding through its fur and held it there for a long second, summoning up the guts to push himself into the plunge.

It made a nasty squelching sound when his blade punctured through skin and organs, and the blood began to pour out quicker than his brain could even process. Seeping through the fluffy fur coat, spreading to his fingers, oozing over the sides of the animal’s tummy, where it finally dripped onto Harry’s bare legs and the bright green lawn beneath him.

The bunny’s eyes stayed frozen in shock. Its mouth hung limp all of a sudden, and its breathing had definitely stopped. Just that quick. No more frantic bumping against his hand at all. Only the sound of leaves in the breeze and the distant laughter of some neighborhood kids who actually had friends to play with outside.

Harry felt like he could fly. There’s no other way to recall the memory. He just felt like he could do anything, even hop to his knees and shoot off into the sky, past the clouds and beyond the atmosphere and into the stars of deep space.

He rubbed his fingers through the slick red goop, lifting his hand to marvel at the way it glistened in the sunlight. As he yanked the knife out of the wound, more of it squirted up onto his face and gushed over the limp body in his lap. He put his finger to the incision, just like mom did, to feel the mark he’d left behind.

For a few peaceful seconds, everything in his life made sense.

No wonder she loves this so much. Of course the one night I couldn’t sleep had to be that one. No wonder it’s impossible for me to stop craving this. Of course this isn’t the end.

Some kids wanted to grow up to be teachers or firefighters or scientists. Harry knew he’d be a killer.

That is, until he really studied the thing’s breathless, still figure. Its empty eyes suddenly seemed so sad. The cute little nose had gone pale, would never twitch in the air again. Its feet were just limp and motionless. Harry lifted one then dropped it again, expecting some kind of response he knew he wouldn’t get. He thought about its little bunny family that had to be somewhere waiting for it to come home, and now it never would. And it was all Harry’s fault.

He looked closer at the blood’s weak trickle through the gash and felt it hollow him out inside. This bunny wasn’t bothering anyone. It was just going on about its day as normal, hopping around and nibbling on blossoms and maybe making friends with baby deer in the woods, like Thumper and Bambi. Maybe it already had a Bambi and Harry’s needs had just ripped them apart forever. Maybe it hadn’t met its Bambi yet, and now it never would. And it was all Harry’s fault.

The bunny wasn’t hurting anything, but Harry had hurt it anyway. Scared it and killed it for no reason other than his own selfish desire for some stupid bloody hands. Was this feeling really, truly worth it?

It started with just one tear, but he couldn’t stop the rest from following quickly after. He’d done a bad thing. A terrible, horrible, awful thing, and it was too late to change it. He couldn’t go back to stop himself, he just had to deal with the weight of taking an innocent life now.

That hurt more than he anticipated. Kinda felt like someone had just stabbed a pocket knife through his heart, too.

His tears grew and clouded his eyes and he tried to wipe them away, but that only smeared more blood onto his face and made him feel even worse. He still has no idea how long he sat there sobbing over the dead bunny in his hands, but the blood on his skin had begun to crust when Gemma found him like that.

“Harry? What the—are you okay? What happened?!” She freaked, and Harry didn’t know what to say. He just cried harder.

“Shh, shh, calm down,” She soothed him, kneeling down to his level to gently pet his hair. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, kay? You’re fine, everything is fine.”

“It’s not.” Harry whined through his hysterics.

“It is, I promise. You’re alright. Come on,” She said, standing to extend her arm down to him, hand out for him to take. He was still sniffling, but he tried to focus on her voice. He reached up and grabbed her hand with his messy one, and she visibly flinched at the feeling but only held him tighter as she helped hoist him up.

She only took a short moment to stare down at the mangled creature’s body before turning around to lead him back inside.

*

In the kitchen, Harry sat on the edge of the counter while she ran a warm cloth over his bloody appendages and scraped up knees. The sound of his woeful sobs had long since gradually dissolved into silence between them, and Gemma was the one to disturb it again.

“You wanna tell me what happened out there?”

His mom taught him that protecting his sister was the most important of all. She couldn’t know what he’d done, what he wants to do, or what mom actually does. He’d say anything to keep her safe.

“I found it.”

“You found it like that?”

He wasn’t the best liar yet, so he just nodded, letting her make the logical assumption that a larger animal had gotten to the rabbit first.

Gemma was always smarter than people gave her credit for, though.

“Where’s your knife?” She asked, not looking him in the eye as she ran the cloth under some warm water, wringing out the red in the sink before pressing it to Harry’s skin again.

“Huh?” He wasn’t lying that time, he honestly forgot all about that until she mentioned it.

“Your pocket knife. The one you dropped when you were busy crying over the dead rabbit.” She said, her voice soothing and gentle despite the harsh wording.

“I don’t know.” Harry said, playing dumb.

“You left it outside.” She noticed.

Harry didn’t know what to say for himself, so he just kept quiet, hoping she wouldn’t think him capable of doing such a thing to a defenseless little animal. If she saw the knife and the blood on its handle, she probably didn’t overlook the open wound on the animal’s heart, either.

She still wouldn’t look directly at him as she finished wiping him down and helped him hop off the counter. She told him to go upstairs and change his clothes so she could throw the stained ones out, and he kept his eyes glued to the floor in shame through the whole process.

Why did he have to be this way? He just wanted to be a normal kid who had normal friends he could play with to distract him from all the bad thoughts in his head. Most of all, he really just wanted those thoughts to go away, but he stopped wishing for that when he realized it was only getting worse the more he grew up. So if they had to be there, then at least having something else to occupy his time and keep him from acting on them might work too.

Why did he have to give in after all this time? Why did there have to be something to succumb to in the first place?

He never wanted Gemma to see him like this. He liked that Gemma thought of him as her cute, harmless, albeit a little weird, baby brother. Now, she probably saw him as a monster. Maybe he was. He took the life of a living thing and made it his toy, and for a minute it felt so, so good. Like nothing in the world could ever touch him. He was invincible.

Until the weight of the moment crashed down on him and the consequences caught up with him. He had to face what he’d become, what this meant for him in the years ahead, and it was just too much for his little body’s aching soul to bear.

*

“Remember this feeling the next time you want to play with life and death. Hang onto it forever.” His mother would tell him later on, when he asked her for comfort as she tucked him in to bed that night.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the bunny and all that pretty gushing blood. There were tears in his eyes again when he imagined the bunny family wondering when their little brother or son or friend was coming home. Maybe it was silly to even think that way about a wild animal, but what if it had been a dog or a human he got his hands on instead?

“You took an innocent life, Harry. You should feel bad about it.” His own mother hissed. “You can cry and say you’re sorry all you want, but that thing is still dead because of you.”

He only started crying harder.

“It’d feel about ten times worse if there’d been a person underneath the tip of your knife instead, so the next time you want to be stupid and reckless just for the thrill of it, you better ask yourself if it’s worth it.” She kept on lecturing him anyway, voice going rougher and reprimanding. “Have they hurt people? Do they care? Will anyone miss them? Do they deserve it? Think of this moment.”

She could be harsh sometimes, but never had she been outright mean to him before. Moms were supposed to make you feel better about mistakes, right? She knew he felt bad, so he couldn’t understand why she was rubbing it in.

“And don’t let your sister catch you ever again.” She added, smacking him round the back of his head once for emphasis. “Just imagine how she feels, having to find you like that. She’s not like us and you know it. Don’t ever pull that shit again.”

“Why did you let me catch you?” Harry whined; angry at her, himself, this whole awful existence.

“We aren’t talking about my mistakes right now. I’ve learned from them and I’ve taught you better than that.” She scolded. “If you’d been in bed that night like you were supposed to, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now at all.”

Oh. Had he been a normal child before that, then? He couldn’t even remember. Ever since that moment in his life, all he could recall was blood and how he could possibly get his hands in it. Maybe she’s right, if he’d just stayed in his room and waited for sleep to come, he’d still be safe and blissfully unaware like he wanted. Maybe all of this is his fault.

“I don’t feel bad for you right now.” She finally said, turning her back as she stood to leave the room while the tears stayed steady on his cheeks. “We don’t take innocent lives in this house, Harry. So you’d better learn from your mistakes too, or find yourself strapped to an electric chair someday with nobody there to save you.”

As soon as she shut the door behind her, Harry buried his face in his pillow and screamed until his throat felt raw.

\\\

“Harry? Hello? What fucking planet are you on right now?” Gemma snaps her fingers in his face, bringing him back to the present day reality of his life. It takes another moment for him to adjust, but he gathers after a quick assessment that she seems to have calmed down enough to have way more clarity towards the situation than he’d prefer.

She caught him… again. Just like all those years ago, he has no real explanation. I found him drugged and stuffed in the trunk of my car doesn’t even sound close to an honest possibility.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself right now? Anything at all?” She tries again.

No. I wish I could just blink and make this all go away.

When he still can’t seem to regain proper use of his vocal chords, Gemma keeps pushing. “Okay, I’m going to make an educated guess then.”

He really wishes she wouldn’t do that either, but it’s not as if the chances of her dropping it and leaving him alone were very promising to begin with.

“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re nowhere to be found.” She starts, slow and cautious, watching him like an archer aiming for the bullseye. Harry swallows the massive lump forming in his throat as she goes on.

“You’re always so serious and secretive, and you act like you’re hiding this deep, tortured soul or something when to me, it looks like you’ve got pretty much everything a person could ever need in life.”

Harry’s heart pounds so loud against his ribcage that he hopes it breaks a bone so he can be rushed to the hospital just to escape this moment.

That would leave his victim here to wake up and run away though, and Harry can’t count on being knocked out twice enough to erase the memory of his face from that guy’s mind, so that wouldn’t end well either.

He really can’t see a logical way out of this. It has to end with him in prison or dead or eventually both, and he wasn’t prepared to say goodbye to everything he loves so suddenly. All his life, he’s just seen the end as some abstract concept that he’d deal with in the distant future. He didn’t think he’d find himself living out his worst nightmare so soon.

“Then there’s the time I found you with the rabbit. I tried to block that one out of my mind ages ago, but I definitely remember it now.” Her dark eyes feel like they’re looking right into his soul, underneath all the layers of pretense and false humanity, down to the very core of what makes him who he is.

Nobody was supposed to see that. Especially not her.

“I knew what you did to it and I knew what that meant, but I didn’t want to believe it. Even after mom… I just wanted to believe you were better. That she didn’t get to you, and the both of us aren’t doomed to end up that way too.”

Harry tries again to swallow his nerves. They don’t budge an inch.

“And now there’s a man passed out on your floor, telling me you held him prisoner today, and you have nothing to say about it, so I gotta ask myself what would’ve happened if the drugs hadn’t worn off before you could disappear into the night again.” She spiels, wondering out loud, “Are you really any better than her after all?”

He can’t answer that, either. All he can think is that at least he hasn’t deluded himself into thinking he could ever have kids or a normal life, let alone try to force this life on them if he did. Maybe that’s the only thing that sets him apart from his mother. If he has to be this way, then he’s going to try his hardest not to drag the rest of his family down with him. The only thing that could top the terror of his sister discovering his secret is Liam and Sophia finding out too. So, what was that thing he told Gemma earlier about counting his blessings?

“Harry, just say something, please. Answer me.” She begs. “I can handle it. I couldn’t back then, but things are different now. Just tell me the truth, please. No more lies. That’s what hurts the most.”

What does handling it mean by her standards? Imagining she would ever just let him go on about his business as usual if he tells her what his intentions were with his victim feels like one of those wild fantasies of an alternate universe where everything magically works in his favor. So she must mean she’s going to turn him in, right? They sure as hell can’t let this officer of the law run free after this whole mess, that’s for sure. But would Gemma really help him get away with murder?

“Harry, were you going to kill this man tonight?” Gemma asks, point blank this time.

He figures he’s fucked either way. She knows. The living proof of it is staring the both of them right in the face. There’s no use in trying to hide anymore. If it’s his time to go, then there’s really no other option but to face it head on.

“Yes.” He says simply. The word tastes like heavy metal on his tongue. He could be getting dizzy, or maybe this moment just feels so fucking surreal he’s only imagining the room swaying around him while he braces for her reaction.

She stares into space for a moment, face as pale and unreadable as a clean sheet of paper. He can practically hear the gears turning in her head, working to fit the pieces of the Harry she once loved together with this new information. It probably helps that they’ve spent most of their lives apart, seeing as she hasn’t really known him for all those lost years anyway. He’s practically a blank slate to her now, and he can see clear as day that she’s beginning to understand why.

“I was really hoping you’d tell me I was fucking nuts for even thinking that.” She says, once her thoughts are gathered enough to speak again.

“Sorry.” He says. If he’d have known she was so willing to buy that, he truly would’ve gone for it. Too late now, though. Maybe she’ll at least show some mercy by letting him run away into hiding before she turns him in.

“I’m guessing this isn’t the first time.” The question is clear in her tone.

“No.”

“How many?”

That’s something he actually doesn’t know the answer to. There’s about forty-something trophies in the studio, but only because Liam doesn’t like when it gets too cluttered, so Harry takes down the older ones after a while to store in a box at the back of his closet like the dark, dirty secret they are.

“I lost count.” He says. She did want honesty.

“Of course you did.” Gemma shuts her eyes tight, like if she concentrates hard enough all of this will actually go away. Maybe they’re more like each other than either one of them knows.

“My brother is a fucking serial killer. Of course he is. That makes perfect sense.”

Now that’s something Harry never thought he’d hear out loud in his life. Even knowing there’s a name for what he does, hearing it applied to himself so blatantly always makes him panic a little inside. People fear him, despite that he’s not even that dangerous. At least not to the average person. He needs her to know that.

“He deserves it, Gem.” Harry offers. “I only pick people who deserve it.”

“God, you sound just like her!” Gemma shakes her head, hand pressed to her temples. “Does Louis know he’s dating a fucking murderer? Does Niall know what he’s gotten into? I’m gonna take a wild shot in the dark and say your parents have no idea who they’ve raised either.”

“Well obviously I can’t just tell people about this, Gemma!” Harry snaps. “‘Hi, I’m Harry, my hobbies are glassblowing and killing people on my days off. Wanna hang out sometime?’”

“Now is really not the time to sass me, Harry.” Gemma grits her teeth. “Answer the questions.”

“Liam and Sophia didn’t raise me this way. Mom did.” He defends them. “And I’m lucky to have found people who accept me for who I am. All of me. So I really hope you can look past this too…”

Her eyes widen in pure shock, and Harry kicks himself inside for even daring to expect that much from anybody. Let alone someone who’s been through the effects of what this virus can do to a happy family.

He clears his throat once before adding, “At the same time I realize that’s pushing my luck. I understand if it’s too much for you.”

He looks down at the floor, unable to maintain the intensity of their eye contact when he begs, “Just please, please don’t turn me in. Please.”

He really doesn’t want to have to call in a favor, but he has done nothing but his best to help her out ever since she popped back into his life. He gave her a place to stay, a shot at having a family again, made her feel welcomed and always been there for her even when it could (and did) get his ass into very real trouble.

He may not be a good person overall, but he’s been good to her. She owes him her silence, at least. He just hopes she can see that too.

She shakes her head again, trying to come to terms with everything. She hasn’t bursted into tears yet, which is impressive all on its own. Harry expects a dramatic reaction from anyone not conditioned to cope with the severity of ending a life, so that seems too good to be true already.

“What did this guy do to deserve it?” She asks, staring at the unconscious body rather than into Harry’s eyes anymore.

“Police brutality. He abuses his power. A general piece of shit.” Harry says, willing to answer any of her questions if there’s even a tiny chance to influence her decision. “He’s killed a lot of undeserving people.”

“But that’s not why you want to kill him.” Gemma guesses.

“I want to kill somebody.” He admits. “Better people like him than someone harmless.”

“People like you.” Gemma corrects him.

Harry really doesn’t like being lowered to the same level as his victims, but he supposes he is only marginally better than them in some ways, and Gemma really shouldn’t be tested right now, so he keeps quiet.

Suddenly the unconscious body in the room groans lowly, blinking himself awake from the short window of silence being knocked over the head provides. If that lasted long enough to get anything done, Harry wouldn’t need to do the drop-off pick-up thing with some shady dealer in a fast food parking lot for his monthly dosage of sedatives to keep his victims under.

Before the guy can fully come to, he sits up to rub his head clear of the fuzziness, and looks around the room. His eyes widen when they fall on Harry and he tries to scramble away.

Gemma is there with another glass thing to knock over his head, though. A rather large, heavy unicorn sculpture that Harry had set in the case of random figurines in the doorway. It doesn’t shatter this time, but the guy falls forward in a daze of darkness again, and the horn from the sculpture chips off and falls to the ground among the already sharp mess of pieces scattered around him.

“Jesus, Gem.” Harry breathes, honestly shocked by the sight of her being so violent right before his eyes. At this rate, she might end accidentally killing the guy before Harry even gets a chance to himself.

“Well, you can’t risk him getting away, right?” She asks, looking him in the eyes again. Hers are empty, tired, sad, torn. It leaves him at a loss for words. He’s not very good at dealing with his own emotions, let alone other people’s. He’ll never understand why she depends on him so much.

“You didn’t have to… I’ve got some, um…” Harry doesn’t know what to do, say, think, or feel. If she doesn’t want the cop going free, then that must mean she’s giving Harry an out, right? She’s on his side? Is he already dead and having some sort of extreme delusion in the afterlife?

“Do what you gotta do, I guess.” She sighs, getting up to cross the room and plop herself down on the couch instead. Immediately reaching for her meds on the table by the arm where the broken lamp used to sit.

“You’re serious?” Harry blinks dumbly, “I can just… you’re not even gonna try to stop me?”

“I’m gonna medicate myself to sleep so I don’t have to fucking be here right now, but other than that I don’t know what else to do.” She shrugs.

“I don’t give a shit if this guy dies or not, but I give tons of shits if my baby brother ends up in prison for the rest of his life, so… I don’t have many options here.”

“I…” He has to act fast, his victim’s not gonna stay knocked out forever and one more blow to the head like that would surely be more than his body can handle. Or he’d be too brain dead to realize what’s happening to him anyway, and where’s the fun in that?

After the day Harry’s been through, he really, really, really needs to properly kill someone.

“…Thank you.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.” Gemma sighs again, dry swallowing a small pile of who knows what to settle her aching head.

*

When the victim wakes up bound on the floor of the studio, stripped of any clothes and power and dignity he may have had left in him, Harry simply smiles from his seat on the table, legs dangling over the edge. He looks down to admire his prize as it awakens.

The chains around Curtis’s ankles echoing off the walls, his muffled sounds of fear and frustration, the way his breathing gets frantic when he realizes his fate; he may as well just be strumming an acoustic guitar while walking barefoot on the beach and singing an array of Harry’s favorite afternoon tunes. It’s that soothing to his soul.

“Ohhh, I know, you were so close, right?” Harry hums, hopping off the table to step closer towards his waiting mark. “I for one, thought you’d gotten away for sure. That would’ve been a real disaster.”

The cop stares up at Harry like he’d be using him for target practice if he hadn’t been disarmed hours ago, and he actually had use of his hands at the moment.

“You did cause a bit of trouble for me, though.” Harry frowns down at him. “Thankfully my sister seems to value my companionship more than your continued existence, but I still wish you wouldn’t have put me in that position to begin with.”

Of course he doesn’t respond.

“Anyway, here we are, finally! Back on track.” Harry says, clapping his hands together once in preparation for what’s to come. “If you promise to be good I’ll let you add some of your own input, but only if you can keep quiet. Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll have to act faster than you’d probably prefer.”

He squats down in front of the guy’s body to carefully pinch the edge of the tape at his cheek and rip it off with one smooth flick of the wrist. Curtis stretches his neck forward just as soon as his mouth is free and chomps down on Harry’s finger so hard it breaks the skin.

“Ow! What the fuck?” Harry yells, going for the eyes in reflexive self-defense. The victim squints and his jaw falls open for Harry to pull his hand back and stand up again, examining the fresh wound around his knuckle.

“I said, be good!” Harry scolds, kicking the pointed tip of his boot right into the soft, exposed belly of his attacker.

“You’re a sick fuck.” The guy spits, coughing up a bit of blood as he rolls uncomfortably onto his back.

“That’s a pretty bold accusation coming from someone like you.” Harry says, “At least I don’t pick my victims based on something as trivial as the color of their skin.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The guy groans, “I’m a cop! I don’t have any ‘victims’.”

“Playing dumb with me gets you nowhere.” Harry scolds. “I know your type. Parading around in your uniform under the pretense of protecting civilians, when really all you’re there for is to further your racist, sexist, classist, ableist, probably LGBT-phobic agenda too, seeing as how hateful ignorance is usually an all-encompassing thing.”

“You’ve got the wrong guy.” He says with a slow cower in his voice.

“That can’t be true. Niall would never make such a crucial mistake. Try again.” Harry says.

“Horan’s behind this?” He asks. “I knew there was something fishy about him wanting to meet up! That guy never liked me.”

“That’s because he has a good heart.” Harry praises.

“Good enough to lure an old co-worker into the hands of some sick fuck like you.” Curtis spits his sarcasm. “What are you gonna do with me, anyway? This some kind of torture chamber?”

His eyes have fallen on the various sized blowpipes leaned against the wall near the oven, and they quickly flick back to Harry as he visibly attempts to swallow his fear.

“Not currently.” Harry assures him, the gory image of Louis tearing into body parts flashing through his mind. “My plans for you are actually pretty quick and mostly painless. It’ll be over before you can register the damage.”

“Please,” Now comes the bargaining phase, “What do you want? I can pay you. I’ve got money. Tell me any number and it’s yours.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you’re probably swimming in it now, aren’t you?” Harry muses, turning back towards the table to roll out his sleeve of tools and pick whichever one calls to him for tonight’s fun while he monologues on, “This country compensates its corrupt officers well. Paid suspension, KKK donation funds… gotta love ‘post-racial’ America, huh?”

“You think you’ll get away with this?” He raises his voice in anger now. “The entire Miami force will hunt you down when I’m gone!”

“Good thing I never leave a trace behind, isn’t it?” Harry asks, not worried in the slightest.

As he caresses the blade of the shaping spade that Louis used for their first night in here together, a twinge of heat starts his heart racing at the reminder of deception from the one person he trusted so implicitly.

“Gemma was right, though. I’m not doing this because I have a passion for justice or whatever stupid thing I tell myself to make it all seem sort of okay.” He sighs, turning towards his victim again, weapon gripped in hand.

“Tonight, I’m doing it simply because my boyfriend hurt my feelings.”

“So killing me is somehow going to solve all your problems, huh?”

“Do you even know what it’s like to have those? Feelings?” Harry goes on, ignoring the useless taunt. “I kind of envy you in that way. They really do complicate things.”

For the first time since the tape was removed, the victim is finally speechless. Harry’s done this enough to feel the shift in energy, to recognize when the person he’s aiming for has given up and accepted their fate. He considers it his greenlight to freely spill his thoughts.

“Then again, if I didn’t have them for anything, I’d be no different than you or anyone else I target.” He considers, “Louis wouldn’t have the power to hurt me this way, but only because I’d never know what it’s like to care so much in the first place… and that is kind of nice. I quite like having someone to go home to at night. A significant person to talk to when my head gets too dark for me to handle. It’s good to have someone who understands, you know? To feel human sometimes.”

But Louis is a liar, his brain reminds him. How on earth it took him so long to come back to this conclusion when it’s been staring him right in the face all along is unsettling. Feelings get in the way of clarity, and it seems Harry’s life has been a whirlwind ever since he started letting this this man stir up these things inside him.  
“If he were here right now, he’d make you suffer. He’s pretty terrifying when he gets into it.” Harry nods, trying to shake his mind into focus again. “Unfortunately I have to move fast tonight, so you’re lucky that you only have to suffer in the form of my therapeutic rambling instead.”

“So where is the fucking faggot?” Curtis taunts, as if an insult coming from one of Harry’s victim’s would have any sort of personal effect on him. “I’d rather be physically tortured than listen to one more second of your pathetic whining.”

“Aw, well now you’ve hurt my feelings too.” He fake-frowns. “And as you can probably guess, there’s just nothing good to come of that.”

“Whatever. I thought you said this would be quick and painless.” He says, “So why am I still waiting—”

In one extremely practiced motion, Harry is standing over the body, thrusting his sharpened spade right through the guy’s beating heart. The squelching rings in his ears, the image of Curtis’s wide eyes frozen in shock branded into Harry’s memory, the smell of thick red iron oozing out around his weapon, and Harry is flying.

He breathes in the moment, relishing in the sense of peace and purpose like nothing else in the world. Feeling the pieces of his life slowly start to fit themselves together again.

His mother always preferred slicing throats, but even with Harry’s own affinity for blood, he’s much fonder of directly stopping hearts. Knowing his own two hands possess the power to bring something from life to death in a single instant makes him feel like there’s no problem too big for him to tackle, and therefore no reason to worry.

*

“Late night?” A familiar voice frightens Harry outside the studio, just as he finishes locking the door behind him. He turns so fast he swears he almost ripped the handle off with him.

Caroline is standing in the cool morning air, soft pink sunrise just beginning to peek out over the horizon, contrasting as if this is at all an innocent, harmless encounter between two acquaintances.

“What are you doing here?” He blinks, momentary panic flooding his veins.

No way can he be caught twice in the span of twenty-four hours. Of course he didn’t leave any evidence to find, save for the lingering smoke stack filled with the stench of burning body parts in the building behind him. The ashes are tucked safely away in his shoulder bag though, and he doesn’t miss the way her eyes briefly land on it before meeting his gaze again.

“Sophia asked me to come in early and do some inventory.” She explains, “Didn’t mention you would be joining me, too.”

“I was just on my way out.” Harry says, perfectly calm and collected as ever when playing his part.

“I see that.” Caroline nods, looking up at the smoke and empty space around the building behind him. “I also see that this place could use another serious sage cleansing, as if once daily isn’t already enough.”

She knows, she knows, she definitely knows, Harry’s intrusive thoughts scream. He has to mentally talk himself into the fact that there’s no way she could know anything for sure, although he’s not an idiot. Her tone suggests she must know something is up. The important part is that she never finds out exactly what.

“Right, well…” Harry tries to brush her off. So what if she thinks she has some kind of sixth sense for energies or whatever? There’s no solid proof to any of it.

“You seem tense. Everything alright?” She wonders.

“I, um… it’s just been a rough night.” Harry sighs, deciding not to act as if he has no idea what she means. “Louis and I had a fight, so that’s why I came here. Working with my hands helps me relax.”

Not a single word of a lie. He can see her visibly backing down as well. Every time he starts feeling like maybe he is something of a human after all, he’s reminded of how easily manipulated they are.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” She says, unexpectedly reaching out to cradle him in a hug. He stiffens in her arms but goes with it, honestly exhausted and a little loopy from sleep deprivation at this point. He just wants to get away as soon as possible so can go home and sleep it off.

“Go get some rest, feel better.” She says when the embrace is over, a relief to his ears. “I’ll let your parents know you may need some cheering up.”

She’s going to tell them he was here after hours. Not a huge deal seeing as they’ve always been the easiest to convince he’s a complete angel, but the fact that Caroline just subtly let him know she’s going to report any suspicious happenings she stumbles upon… well, that’s a problem for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback loved & appreciated thanks for reading xx


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Gemma learned all about harry's deepest, darkest secret. Actually accepted him for it??? And Caroline happened to catch him leaving the studio after a kill.
> 
> *Bloody death tw for this one. Tread carefully, dears.

  
Harry wakes up to an empty house the next afternoon. Gemma can’t be gone for good, because all of her stuff is still piled in a sloppy mess by the sofa in the living room, but it fills him to the brim with worry. She could’ve changed her mind about ratting him out to the police, or gotten hurt in some horrible accident, or worse; decided to hurt herself.

After a few days go by without any sight of her, his anxieties are nearly impossible. He and Niall are on speaking terms again, but it’s wary. He has his own theories about where she could’ve disappeared to, although he stopped investigating it as far as Harry’s aware of.

As for Louis… Harry needs somebody to talk to, and Louis is the Somebody he misses most of all.

“I’m still mad at you.” Is how Harry greets him when he shows up at Louis’s house one morning, maybe a week or so after their fight.

“Okay.” Louis simply says, leaning against the frame with the door held open.

He looks so… celestial, is the only word Harry’s mind can conjure up. Damn him. His hair is all scruffy and cute, face bearing the stubble of a few day’s growth, and he’s wearing an old Nirvana tee with gray sweatpants that fall just a little too low, revealing the skin of his hips and the faintest tuft of fur above the hem.

“I’m trying not to be.” Harry admits, letting his heart swell with longing. “I know that you only wanted to protect me.”

“I’d do anything to keep you safe, Haz. Anything.” Louis says. He looks about as relieved on the outside as Harry feels inside.

“You know honesty is the most important thing to me.” Harry tells him. “Between us, I mean. We keep so many secrets, but you and I should be a team, you know? All I ask is that we can be open with each other.”

“You’re absolutely right, and I one hundred percent agree.” Louis nods in seemingly full understanding. “I’ve learned my lesson. No more secrets. Promise.”

“Okay.” Harry sighs.

It’s so easy for Louis to win him over that he fears he might always be in danger. But isn’t that what love is supposed to feel like? A roller coaster ride with a RISKY, DO NOT ENTER sign pasted up outside, and yet it looks so grand and exciting that there’s a line of people queueing up all the way down the block for their chance to get on anyway.

“I really miss you.” Harry blurts what he hopes they’re both thinking.

Louis’s lips part into a smile so soft and sweet it melts Harry’s heart into mush. He slowly reaches out towards Harry, pulling him closer, cupping his chin with a gentle hand and guiding their mouths together  
  
for a kiss that reminds Harry why this is worth fighting for.

“How are you doing?” Louis asks when they part, pressing their foreheads so close he can feel Louis’s breath on his face.

He sighs. Stressed. On edge. Wearing thin. But in the presence of his prince it’s all starting to take a backseat now.

“Gemma left, but I’m not sure for how long.” Harry confesses what’s been bugging him most of all lately.

  
“Because of… me?” Louis worries.

“No, because of me.” Harry says. “She, um… found out. Who I really am… I haven’t seen her since.”

“Oh, holy shit. You’re serious?” Louis’s whole face rises in shock.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to come in and tell me about it?” Louis is still a bit tentative because they haven’t talked about anything in a while, but Harry can see how badly he wants to make things right. He himself is tired of not knowing exactly how to proceed after the blow they suffered, but he wants to try.

Relationships are about overcoming struggles, right? Nothing can be perfect all the time. So this is just a test to see how well they work together, and one they’re both determined to pass.

“You don’t think she’ll go to the police, do you?” Louis asks as he closes the door behind them.

 

//

 

It was a sunny day in Virginia, and the whole family was sitting on a blanket by the lake in the park. Mom made them sandwiches and fruit salad with chips, and even brought along some cookies for dessert. After they finished their meals first.

“But I don’t like the crust!” Harry whined. He just wanted some cookies. He ate his fruits and his chips and the whole inside of the sandwich, wasn’t that enough?

“Oh, hush. You’ve always eaten it before.” Mom said.

“I’m a grown up now.” Harry argued. “Gem told me your tongue changes every seven years, and I’m seven now so I don’t like it.”

“Now why would she say a funny thing like that?” Mom asked, giving Gemma a classic Mom Look.

“I read it in a book.” Gemma shrugged. “I didn’t know he was gonna throw a fit about sandwich bread all of a sudden.”

“Well, Harry, next time I’ll cut the crusts off for you.” Mom said, “But you know you can’t have dessert until you finish your meal. There are rules we follow in our house, aren’t there?”

“We’re not in our house.” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

Gemma laughed, and Mom scolded her again for it.

“How about if we go feed them to the ducks instead?” Gemma suggested, “The food won’t go to waste that way.”

“Yeah! Can we, mom? Please?” Harry put on his very best Asking Mom For Things Face, where he made his eyes real big and cute and smiled wide like an angel.

She rolled her eyes but gave her approval, so Harry and Gemma got up and raced down to the lake almost immediately after.

Down by the water, the two of them laughed at the ducks as they fought over tiny pieces of bread crumbs on the ground. They made bets on which bird would intimidate the others away from its prize, and the biggest white goose seemed to grab the most of all.

When the kids were out of bread, that goose wasn’t happy. It waddled closer to the two of them, expecting more that they didn’t have to give. It honked at Harry and bared its tiny, creepy goose teeth, threatening him. He instantly thought of finding a sharp rock to stab it with, but Gemma beat him to it.

She waved her arms and honked right back, charging towards the animal until it turned around and retreated, flapping its wings in distress.

“You can’t let them get too greedy, or they won’t stop.” She taught him. “I read that in National Geographic.”

Good thing she liked to read so much, because Harry’s instincts only would’ve gotten them in trouble.

“Thanks Gem! You’re so smart!” He smiled in genuine enthusiasm. He tried his best to pretend as if he’d actually been scared of the bird at all, but mostly he was just impressed by the multitude of knowledge and wisdom she always seemed to possess.

“No problemo.” She grinned back, throwing an arm around his shoulder as they walked back towards mom. “Can’t let anything hurt my baby bro.”  
  
\\\

 

That afternoon in the gallery, Harry’s helping his mother straighten up the displays by dusting and polishing when she breaks their comfortable silence.

“Still no sign of your sister?” She asks, knowing how much it’s been getting to him. She suggested filing a missing person’s report on the 2ndday without word, but Harry insisted that Gemma’s an adult who can look after herself.

He’s not sure if he’s more worried about her or himself at this point, to be honest. She knows too much about him, and Harry’s got a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach that she’s perfectly safe somewhere out there… but is he?

“Not yet.” He sighs.

Like any good mother should, Sophia always knows what to say even if it’s not exactly what he wants to hear at the time.

“Maybe she just needed some time away.” She says, “It can’t be easy for her with all that’s happened, to see you so happy while she’s still struggling to overcome your birth mother’s mistakes.”

“Then why would she find me in the first place?” Harry wonders. “You think she hoped to see me struggling too?”

Sophia shrugs. “It’s a difficult situation. Maybe she just needs somebody to relate to, and it’s been a shock to find that you’re not the best person for that anymore.”

He’d considered it too. Gemma doesn’t know this version of him, and meeting the mask he wears all day might have been okay for her to cope with. But finding out he’s more like their mother than any sane human being should be? It’s got to be too much, even though she insisted she could handle the truth. The reality is that the baby bro she used to protect has turned into a force to be protected from.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Harry grumbles.

Sophia chuckles, setting down the figurine she was busy shining up to embrace him instead. “I’m always on your side, sweetheart. Just trying to help you understand.”

Even at 26 years old, there’s nothing like a hug from mom to calm his nerves. He’s pretty sure it’ll always be the miracle cure to make him feel like everything’s gonna be alright.

“Do you regret any of it?” Sophia asks, slowly stroking her hand up and down his back. “If she never comes back, would you wish you’d never gotten the chance to get to know her?”

He hesitates. Despite how he lies his way through life, he still likes to be as honest as reasonably

possible. Monsters like him tend to shut themselves off from genuine closeness with the humans in their lives, so no one finds out how empty they are inside. But Harry’s not empty. He has feelings, and he cares about everyone he keeps around, especially his parents who’ve always been there for him in hard times and good ones alike. So, why hide?

“I don’t think so.” He finally admits. “It was… nice. To meet her again, see who she’s become. I wish I could’ve helped her more, and that things could’ve ended better than they did.”

With her catching me red handed in a compromising position, then fleeing town right after.

“Those are my only regrets.”

“Sometimes not knowing why these things happen is the most frustrating part.” Sophia nods her understanding. “But I’m proud of you for taking the opportunity when it came to you, and we’ll deal with whatever happens next.”

Yes, it always feels better to open up to his mother. One thing that’s never changed is tendency to be a mama’s boy, especially when that mother loves him the right away.

“Hey Soph, is there a dumpster nearby?” Caroline’s voice comes from the studio as she enters the room with a box full of random garbage, it looks like.

“Just down the street, first left.” Sophia says, breaking their hug now to address Caroline directly. “What have you got there?”

“Oh, just a bunch of junk I found while tidying up. Look at all this stuff!” She tilts the box towards them and Harry can see it’s mostly broken glass and old tools turning red with rust. One item in particular stands out to him, though, and his stomach drops when he sees it.

“I mean, are these actual ankle shackles? What do you boys do in there all day?” Caroline jokes, picking them up by the chain for his mom to get a proper look.

Nothing, during the day.Harry thinks and sweats all at once.

Caroline pauses for a little bit too long when her gaze falls on Harry. Almost like she’s daring him to explain. He could hope that she won’t think too much into it, but that seems like the most unlikely outcome at this point. Damn her fucking psychic intuition.

“Weird, I’ve never seen those before.” Harry comments. “We’ve had this place for so many years, we find all kinds of crazy stuff in there. I think you may have taken the cake for the strangest, though!”

“Um, actually, Liam and I bought them for… an experiment.” Sophia volunteers with a slight blush on her cheeks. “Never did use them again, but that was a night to remember.”

“That is something I absolutely could have lived my entire life without knowing.” Harry acts scandalized,  
  
going right along with the blatant lie he just caught his own mother in.

Harry knows for a fact that she has nothing to do with them, because he bought them himself and always made sure they were exactly where he left them when he was done. She probably didn’t even know they were there until just now, so what the fuck was that all about?

Does she know something about him that she really shouldn’t? And if that’s true, why would she help him cover up something like that? And how the hell is he supposed to bind his victims now, anyway? When Caroline throws them out, it’ll only draw more attention if she finds another pair soon after, but Harry certainly can’t keep something that incriminating at his own house either. He’ll have to start duct taping their feet, too. That disturbs the ritual.

“Yeah, a little bit more than I hoped to find out too.” Caroline makes a face, dropping the shackles back into the box and heading for the door.

After it shuts behind her, Sophia doesn’t even look his way when she asks him to hold down the fort while she goes out for lunch.

 

*

 

The next day, Harry and Louis meet up at Niall’s house for drinks and dinner (provided by Niall himself, of course. Harry may have weakened to Louis’s cooking, but he may never come around.)

“Damn, I’m actually glad to see you two’ve made up.” Niall tilts his beer towards the two of them so they can all clink together once before chugging a sip in unison.

“Aw, Ni. Look how far you’ve come.” Harry wipes away a fake tear at the sentiment. He wasn’t sure that Niall would ever give Louis an honest chance, let alone that they’d actually end up being friends someday. Being able to share a beer and a laugh with two of his favorite people at the same time, feels a little bit like a slice of heaven. Harry doesn’t ask for much.

“My irresistible charm always wins them over in the end.” Louis preens.

“Yeah, yeah.” Niall rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t have worked on me if you didn’t get to H first. Guess you guys really do make a good team.”

Harry and Louis turn to each other with smiles that span the length of the continental US.

“Ugh, please spare me the googly eyes though. I’m still single and bitter about it.” Niall groans, tossing his bottle back for more.

“Well, what’re you looking for? Girl, guy, neither, both?” Louis offers. “I’ve got familiar faces all over. I could probably find you someone who wouldn’t mind the whole… blond thing.”

“Hey! I happen to like my hair, you know.” Niall pouts.

“Oh, I know. You’re not fooling anyone with those roots, love.” Louis teases.

“I think it adds character.” Niall maintains.

“You’re beautiful no matter what, Niall.” Harry assures him with a comforting pat on the knee.

“This is why you’re my favorite.” The two of them share a classic bro-fist pound.

“You haven’t known me long enough yet. Give it time for me to work my way to number one.” Louis shrugs it off with another sip of beer.

“I think the police have finally backed off about Pearson.” Niall changes the subject, reminding Harry of his last kill that was so graciously provided by Niall risking his own ass in a time of dire necessity.

“They bought the story you fed them?”

“At first, nah. The last phone call on someone’s records is always a huge red flag to precinct-types.” Niall explains. “I had to forge some documents to prove to them that we were discussing a client for my own private business. Made it seem like I was looking into someone who was involved in a case he’d been working on before he ‘disappeared’.”

“I feel like I don’t thank you enough for all that you do for me. I probably never could.” Harry says.

“Let’s not get all heartfelt. I’m covering my own ass here, too.” Niall counters, “It’s not like I’m completely innocent in this little arrangement after all.”

“True, but I think we can agree cops are off limits from now on.” Technically that one was Harry’s fault for pushing Niall into it with his desperation, but. The look Niall gives him in return suggests he’s choosing to let it slide.

He pauses for a moment though, ready to gauge Harry’s expression. He fiddles with the tip of his beer bottle when he starts slowly, “Listen, I know I was supposed to stop investigating your sister, and I mostly have.”

“Mostly?” Harry presses. He’s not mad, really. At this point, it’s almost comforting to know that at least someone’s keeping tabs on her.

“I just had an alert set for if she was in the area… and as of a couple hours ago, she’s back.” Niall says. “Not sure where in town she is, but her car crossed city limits, and that’s all I know.”

“Okay.” Harry breathes. He’s not sure what to do with that information. She’s alive though. That should be good news, right?

“Hey, so that’s one worry you can cross of your list.” Louis tries to give him some sort of direction on how to feel. Between the Gemma thing and the Caroline thing and the Sophia thing, Harry’s need to kill again so soon is already pushing the line of desperation.

“I should probably see if she’s home, then.” He says quietly.

“Do you want us to come too? Just in case?” Niall offers. He still has his suspicions about her hiding things. Harry’s still caught up on the fact that she figured out the things he was hiding.

“No, no.” Harry insists. “I’d want to face her alone anyway.”

He’s not even sure if she’ll be there or not, but if she is, it’s a conversation that’d be better between the two of them. And if she isn’t, then maybe a good night’s sleep will help sort out his thoughts and figure out what the next move is.

 

//

 

“Gem, can I have cereal for dinner?” Harry asked, hopping onto the couch next to where she was sat watching Full House.

“Like I care.” Gemma said, totally engrossed in the TV.

“I can’t reach the shelves.” Harry pouted. His growth spurt didn’t kick in until he was in middle school.

Gemma had the years and the height on him all throughout their childhood.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but she was never able to resist Harry’s bright eyes and chubby little cheeks. She got up to make him a bowl of Lucky Charms.

“When is mom coming home?” He asked, following her every step.

“I don’t know. Since when do we ever know?” Gemma retorted.

Sometimes their mom showed up after work, sometimes they wouldn’t see her until the next morning, sometimes not until the next night. She just trusted that Gemma would have it under control until she decided to show up again. Harry trusted Gemma to have it under control, too.

“Where do you think she goes at night?” Harry wondered. At nine years old, he long since knew that her late nights out were spent stalking victims. Slitting their throats like he the night he couldn’t help but remember. Disposing of their bodies in ways he’d yet to learn. But what did Gemma think she was up to?

“Probably working late.” Gemma shrugged. “You can’t really plan for when some asshole’s gonna decide  
  
to beat up his wife in the middle of the night. She has to be there to help.”

“Asshole’s a bad word.” Harry noticed.

“They’re bad people.” Gemma reasoned.

Harry just gave her a disapproving stare. Gemma was supposed to be the good child. Older, wiser, better, nicer, more responsible. Generally just, not destined to be a killer.

“I won’t tell mom if you don’t.” She said, handing him his bowl of dinner.

“Deal.” He agreed, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth with a sugary crunch. He liked the idea of the two of them keeping secrets from mom for once. “Can I stay up late tonight, too?”

“Come watch TV with me.” She approved.

They sat together for a few hours, watching all the good shows that Harry normally had to miss when mom was there to tuck him in at night. Just before they drifted off, Gemma had something to say that’s stuck with him his entire life.

“Harry?” She asked, half-drowsy with sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be like mom, okay?” She told him.

“Why?” He quite wanted to be like her. At that time, he thought she was the ultimate dream of what he was capable of doing with his life.

“Just take care of your family.” She yawned.

“You take care of me.” Harry was trying to make her feel better. It was okay that mom wasn’t always around, because they had each other. “I can take care of you sometimes, too. Maybe when I’m older.”

“Kids aren’t supposed to take care of each other.” Gemma said.

Harry wanted to stick up for their mom, but it was about protecting Gemma. She fell asleep soon after, anyway.

He did take care of her in some ways already. She just didn’t know enough to notice it.

 

\\\

She is waiting for him at home. Casually sitting on the couch, as if she hadn’t moved an inch since their emotional confrontation nearly a week ago.

“Gemma,” He sighs in relief. “I was so worried. Where have you been?”

She doesn’t say anything at first, but Harry can sense there’s something up. Something bad. Her sullen eyes reveal the heavy melancholy that penetrates to her very core.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” She finally says. “I’ve had… a lot to think about.”

He gulps, hoping his worst fears haven’t been right all along.

“Remember on the boat, when we agreed that it doesn’t seem fair for either of us to have good things? That it constantly feels like we don’t deserve anything but pain.”

“I remember.”

“I was right, not you.” She says. “We’re not good people. We don’t deserve any of this.”

“But we’re here, Gem. So we have to make the best of it. There’s no other choice.” He reminds her.

He doesn’t really think she’d ever do something drastic, but… he fears it, sure. On top of the list of worst horrors he can imagine is somebody he loves, getting themselves into trouble because of him. Not being able to mentally withstand the reality of who he is.

He can’t lose her now, not after how far they’ve come. He finally feels like he has a sister again. A sister who might be able to accepthim for all that he is.

“There is another choice, though.” She argues, shaking her head fast, trying to stick to her train of thought.

“Gemma. You can’t think that way.”

“Why not? What reason do I have to not think that way?” Her voice raises now. “You kill people, Harry! And you enjoy it! You’re just like mom, and we both know she was no good either. So why should you get to have a normal life while she’s behind bars?”

That stings like no other; mainly because she’s right. He can try to run from it all he wants, but despite his best efforts, when it comes down to the facts, he lives his life the same exact way she chose to. And if he believes that she deserves to pay for her crimes, why shouldn’t he agree on the same fate for himself?

“And I hurt everyone who matters. I don’t know why, I just do. I keep doing it, and I don’t know how to  
  
make it stop.” Gemma continues her spiel.

“Not me.” He argues. “You’ve never hurt me, Gem… You’re good, I know it. I’ve seen it.”

“Yet.” Her voice cracks when she says it, and Harry is massively unprepared for the click of a gun in his ears, the sight of the Colt 45 she pulls from behind her back. Aims it right at him. Cocked and ready to fire.

“Okay, Gemma, hold on.” His voice comes out unsteady, too. He holds his hands up by his head in surrender.

This is the one thing he never even considered to expect, and from his sister of all people. His entire world shifts into something blurry and unrecognizable in the blink of an eye. He actually starts a mental prayer to whatever higher power there might be listening. Please, please, don’t let this be real.

He’s finally happy for once in his life. He’s not ready to let go yet.

“This is the only thing that makes sense, Harry.” Her tears are welling up now. “It’s the only way. We shouldn’t be here anymore. We’re just… just… hurting the world. And everyone in it. We don’t deserve life, and it doesn’t deserve us.”

She clearly doesn’t wantgo through with this, but she’s managed to convince herself she has to. So maybe if Harry can just get her to listen, she’ll be able to see things clearly again. It seems like his only hope at this point.

“Gemma—”

“I killed them, Harry! I’m a murderer, too!” The crying breaks though, wetness spilling down her face. “That’s the real reason I came to find you. To find some kind of… innocence. My whole family is gone because of me. My own daughters… what’s wrong with me?”

“You… what?” Harry is stunned into a shock too great to even process a bomb like that. She what?

“My husband didn’t abandon me. I lied, just like everyone else in this fucking family does to cover their own ass.” She explains through her incoherence. “I just—snapped. It was such a bad day… I—I wasn’t coping well. Hell, I never coped very well… Oh, God. I remember it too clearly. So much blood.”

She groans, squinting her eyes shut for a long moment while the memories attack her brain.

Harry’s pretty sure he stopped breathing what feels like at least twenty minutes ago. He knows for a fact that any sudden movements will get him killed, so all he can really do for himself is stand there and listen anyway.

“The kids were screaming and he wasn’t helping and it was too much pressure and I just fucking lost it! I—I don’t know what I was thinking.” She’s sobbing now, but he can’t even be sure if it’s out of real

remorse at this point. She is, after all, describing how she killed her family; some of them her own flesh and blood, an act too gruesome for even him to fathom. Is he so programmed by his mother’s belief system that one harsh judgement about a person’s character can turn him against people so quickly?

Not to mention, she still has a gun pointed at his head. Is she truly mourning the weight of what she’s done, or is she really just another psychopath with a black hole where her heart should be?

How did he not see it? He’s usually so good at spotting those types, and yet here it was right underneath his nose the whole time. Niall had more of a hunch about her than Harry ever did.

“I hit them so many times, Harry… The blood was everywhere, and I couldn’t stop… My babies.” She chokes around her tears, “My sweet angels… I couldn’t even recognize them when I was done. So much blood…”

He’s truly at a loss for words. The first time in his life, he finally understands what it’s like to assume you know someone and then find out you never really knew them at all. To want to believe that some part of your time together had to be genuine, but to fear deep down in your core that everything they’d ever said or done was part of elaborate façade to cover up the depth of their darkness.

Gemma is exactly the kind of person he would target if in some alternate universe they happened to be complete strangers. The person standing in front of him right now is nothing near the older sister he remembers from his school days, let alone anything like the sister he met again just a couple weeks ago. He’d accepted a long time ago that despite the trauma bonding of their childhood, they just weren’t meant to be a part of each other’s lives, and now comes the time to mourn the figurative death of her all over again.

He never should’ve given her the benefit of the doubt. He should’ve listened to Louis from the very start, but he was so blinded by their blood relation that it’s too late now. It’s over. She’s won a game that Harry didn’t even know he was supposed to be playing.

He swallows before speaking, armed with the new information that there are no boundaries to what she’s capable of, if pushed too far.

“It’s okay, Gem. It’s alright.” He tries to soothe her, figuring the only proper way to approach the situation is by making her feel okay. Certainly not by letting on how deeply disappointed he is, or openly rejecting her false displays of what she probably believes are genuine emotions.

Part of him does still means it. Love isn’t rational. Her past crimes frame it into some sort of perspective… they really must’ve had the worst mother of all time, and Gemma is still the only one who gets just how deep it runs. She’s suffered just as much, maybe even more in the aftermath of Anne’s arrest, and Harry can’t blame her for it any more than he can blame himself for his own way of life. Which, he does. But not enough to want to die for it.

“We can fix this, together. Nobody has to know about us.” He rationalizes, “We can just… be fucked up together. You’re not alone in this.”

“I know I’m not alone, you asshole!” She screams. “I know you’re even more fucked up than I am! You’re actually proud of what you do! That’s why you have to die first!”

Of course he’s never been proudof himself. He just… he’s letting her get in his head again. Pride and acceptance are two different things, and it took the majority of his life to get to a place where it’s starting to feel just okay to swallow the shame of who he’s become. That’s something she’s not even willing to try to understand.

She’s already too far past the point of rationality. It doesn’t look like talking is going to help anything.

 

Instead, he sucks in a breath, gently shuts his eyes, and keeps his goodbyes to himself. Sophia, Liam, Niall… Louis. Who’s waiting just outside because he insisted on being here for backup in case things went bad. Harry’s thanks his lucky stars that at least he had the good sense to tell him to wait inside the car. At least he’s safe out there. At least he doesn’t have to die today, too. At least he doesn’t have to see this.

He’ll be the one to find Harry’s body, though. He feels just one solitary tear carve a trail down his cheek at the thought of how that’s going to shatter the love of his life’s heart into a million tiny pieces.

He doesn’t even knowhe’s the love of Harry’s life yet. They haven’t even said it out loud. Harry’s never told him how much he fucking loves him, and now he’ll never get to.

Out of all the atrocious things he’s done over the years, that’s what he regrets most of all. Tell the people you love how much they mean to you while you still can: a lesson he wishes he didn’t just learn the hardest way of all.

 

“Gemma, you have two seconds to drop the fucking gun before I kill you where you stand.” Harry’s about eighty percent sure that the sound of Louis’s voice next to him is just an elaborate delusion. He was so lost in his head that he didn’t hear any doors open or see the tables turn so quickly, but sure enough, when he opens his eyes again, Louis is by his side with his own gun aimed at Gemma’s face. Harry didn’t even know he owned a gun.

This is a fucking nightmare.

“Louis, what are you doing?” Harry practically shrieks. “Stop it! Put the gun down!”

This isn’t what he wanted at all.

“Not until she drops hers.” How Louis manages to stay so calm and collected during this insanity is beyond Harry’s comprehension.

Every time he starts to think there’s no possible way for his life to get any more chaotic than it already  
  
is, the universe smacks him right across the head with another surprise.

“Louis, please, don’t. She’s family.” Harry addresses him firmly this time.

“That’s all well and good, H. I was willing to respect that until she made herself into a threat.” He says, not even sparing a sideways glance Harry’s way. Not daring to take his eyes off his target for even one blink.

“You don’t understand, Lou!” Harry begs.

It’s not her fault. None of this is their fault. Since the moment he was born, their lives have just been filled with violence, pain, destruction, and Harry wants more than anything for it to all just stop, but there’s no control. Anywhere. He’s tried his very best to resist the urge, and he’s sure that Gemma gave her best effort too. She just happened to choose the wrong outlet to channel all her rising angst.

“Both of you, please! Nobody has to die today! This is crazy!” He’s become the frantic one now. Helpless to protect his boyfriend, himself, the tiny semblance of normalcy he managed to taste in his life before they all wound up in this horrific moment.

“What if I just shoot you first?” Gemma asks Louis, both of them too focused on each other to pay any attention to Harry’s pleads.

When she aims the barrel of her gun at Louis next, it feels like Harry’s suddenly standing outside of his body, watching his life play out before him like something straight out of a slasher movie.

“No! Gemma, please, stop this!” He bursts into hysterics. Just the idea of Louis being the one to suffer from his own fucked up family affair is too much to bear. “He hasn’t done anything! Leave him out of it! Please, I’m begging you, please!”

“Why should I do you any favors?” She yells back through her own tears. “If he’s willing to risk his life for this sick shit, why should he get to live any longer than you? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t make you watch me end him right now. Prove to you that this way of life always leads to destruction.”

“Because I love him!” He’s been thinking it since Gemma drew her gun, but now that Louis is standing next to him and he finally has the chance to get those words out before it’s too late, he just blurts it in the panic. Maybe she doesn’t even realize she’s putting Harry’s whole world at risk.

Maybe she does. Maybe that was the point, and maybe now he’s just made it even worse.

 

It seems to be enough for the room to halt for a moment. Both pairs of eyes shift onto Harry, and he uses the brief distraction to move himself in front of Louis’s gun, back to barrel between his boyfriend and sister. He doesn’t even care what happens to him at this point, as long as Louis makes it out of this alive. Harry will not let himself be the cause of Louis’s demise.  
  
“I’m in love with you, Louis. Whatever happens, I just need you to know it. I’d give up everything for you. Even my own life.” Harry gulps, swallowing all his fears and hopes and dreams for the future that’s already slipped out of his grasp.

“Well?” Even Gemma is stunned back into some form of clarity by the heartfelt confession.

Louis doesn’t know what to say, but Harry can feel what he’s thinking, see it clear as day on his face. This isn’t the time or the place. It’s not how Louis pictured it. He’s caught off guard. It’s not how Harry pictured it either, but desperation had other plans for them.

“You’re just gonna let him spill his heart out and not even respond?” Gemma prompts. “Don’t you love him too?”

“Of course I do.” Louis says, eyes still focused on Gemma’s every movement.

“You do?” Harry asks, daring to look over his shoulder, feeling nearly indestructible with the sound of it. Yet also somehow like he could crumble into a pile of ashes at any second. Talk about a sensory overload.

“Of course I do!” He says it with passion this time, eyes boring right down to the center of Harry’s soul.

“Harry, without you, this life means nothing to me anymore.” Louis says it such sincerity that it shivers down to Harry’s toes.

“So please, step out of the way. You’re not helping anyone by sacrificing yourself. It only means we all die for fucking nothing.”

  
Louis loves him. He loves him. Harry would much prefer to live out the glorious, adventurous, beautifully dark and gloriously bloody life that lies before them, but at least today they can both die happy. Together.

 

He reaches for one of Louis’s hands, just to feel him, to hold him in some small way. The first time they said this to each other should’ve been romantic, but then, they were never very traditional with their firsts anyway. Louis rests on the trigger with his right, and squeezes Harry’s hand with his left.

He takes one step to the side so he can aim at the other sibling again.

“Adorable.” Gemma rolls her eyes. With all these new revelations about who she actually is, her previously playful pessimism just seems bitter and vicious.

“But do you really know him, Louis?” She asks, gun still carefully aimed at her original target; Harry’s chest. “How many people he’s hurt? Even murdered,with his own two hands?”

Obviously, she hasn’t the faintest idea what she’s talking about, but she asks as if she’s just dropped some kind of bomb between the two of them.

“Tell him, Harry.”

They share a quick glance between them, nodding once in telepathic agreement, and then answering at the same time.

“We help each other sometimes.” Harry says.

“That’s exactly why we’re so good together.” Louis says.

She pauses for a moment to absorb that.

“How is that even possible?” Her voice is loud with incredulity. “How can you guys… How did you even find… How is it that Harry gets to have everything and I still, always end up with nothing?!”

She’s full-on losing it now. As if one could somehow ‘lose it’ beyond the point of aiming a gun at their baby brother while breaking down about how life isn’t worth living anymore.

“It’s not fair. This is so fucked up.” She runs one of her hands through her hair, stressed and maniacal as she rambles on. “No! This isn’t right. None of this is right. It’s not fair!”

“Gem, all of this can go away if you just put the gun down.” Harry keeps trying to persuade her. “I’m your brother, and I love you too. No matter how fucked up you are, or how beyond shitty things have gotten between us. It is possible, and it does get better… Just, let’s just talk about this. Please.”

“No, no, no, it’s not right, not fair.” She looks up at him again, the tornado of torture brewing in her heart showing clear as day on her face.

“Life isn’t fair, Gemma. It fucks everyone up in the end. Welcome to the real world.” Louis tries his hand at talking her down with reality instead. “If anyone on this planet actually deserves to live, it’s Harry. Somewhere in you, you must know that too. He sees the good in everybody,people like you and me included. Even after all you’ve put him through, he’s still willing to give you another chance. Take it, alright? Let him show you it really can be okay.”

Louis is such a pro at this speech -giving thing. With just a few sentences, it looks as though Gemma is starting to reconsider. After a prolonged stillness, she wearily starts to lower her gun, and Harry holds his breath that Louis doesn’t pull anything stupid and end up shooting her anyway.

He doesn’t really think that would happen, though. After all, Louis loves Harry. He wouldn’t want to hurt him that way. Harry is just stuck in a state of mistrust that they might actually make it out of this alive.  
  
All three of them.

Gemma’s tears come back too soon, though. They’re actually dripping from her face as she falls back into a seat on the couch with the force of her sobs. She just sits there for a minute, head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes closed, her body wracking with the weight of her sadness. Arms lying limp by her side, the gun resting against one of the cushions.

Eventually, her crying turns to weeping until her eyes run out of tears. Louis just stands there with him, his own weapon never budging an inch from Gemma’s figure until Harry reaches for his clutching hand to gently lower it for him.

It’s looking like she’s no longer a threat to them, and Harry wants her to know she’s safe to let it all out. It’s okay to be herself around him. Even if herself happens to be a brutal monster in need of some serious amounts of help. It’s not like he’s a perfect angel either. Maybe he can forgive her… if she’s willing to change.

When she’s all dried up and the room lingers in the aftermath of her emotion, she turns her head straight forward to look into Harry’s eyes again. Louis reflexively points his gun at her sudden movement, but she doesn’t seem to react to that.

“I’m… so sorry.” Her voice is weak and tired. Her brows furrowed together in agony.

Harry is about to tell her it’s okay again, but her mouth crooks down into an ugly frown. The moment she brings the gun towards her chin, it’s already happening and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“N—” Before he can even start to protest, the booming decibels assault his ears.

 

There’s a high pitched ringing all around; it’s all he can hear as he watches the gore explode through her head from the back. Brains and blood sprayed all over his couch, the floor, ceiling, walls, seemingly every clean surface in the house. He doesn’t even hear the sound of his own screaming, or feel himself instinctively jolt forward to reach for her body where it’s still propped up, empty and limp in the wake of the moment.

All he can see is her widened eyes, frozen forever in fear. A gaping hole through the bottom of her face, raw and mangled at the bullet’s entrypoint. A river of blood dripping from the open wound, staining her skin, pooling on the floor behind the sofa. And the ringing in his ears lasts forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...um. I love Gemma, let me make that clear. I also love Anne, but their characters were planned from the beginning and that's just how it goes :x
> 
> Comments and feedback in any form, even if you gotta yell at me for cliffhangers lmao. Thank you all for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on BHD: Louis and Harry made up, and things seemed to be going well for once in Harry's life. Except for the minor detail of Gemma reappearing only to shoot herself in a ~dramatic confrontation.
> 
> There's also a kill and a couple cameos in this chapter btw, those of you who do watch Dexter should appreciate. More to come soon ;) xx

Harry does recall a time not too long ago when he could actually feel things, he just doesn’t remember what those feeling were like. Maybe he’d just gotten so good at pretending over the years that he’d managed to delude himself into thinking he might actually be some sort of human.

The truth of his own monster has echoed through the hollow shell of his being left over from when Gemma pulled the trigger. Life hasn’t made much sense in the weeks of the aftermath, and if he were still capable of something as complex and draining as worry, he’d fear that it never would again.

The last part of his youthful innocence, the one part of his childhood that he believed was actually good, any tiny bit of hope in his life was wiped away with the remains of her body, cleared out by the cleaning crew. He’s been back to his house only once after that day, just to witness the difference between the restored living room and the gruesome image tainting his last memory of it.

He’s been holing himself up in his old bedroom at his parent’s house since.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Sophia greets him with a full breakfast every morning. Today it’s waffles with fresh cut strawberries and Nutella. Harry simply nods his acknowledgement and sits down to eat.

“How are you feeling?” The careful concern in her voice is glaringly obvious.

Every day she checks in with him, and every day he’s at a loss for words.

Nothing. I feel nothing.

He shrugs. The pretense has become entirely too exhausting for him to deal with these days. The one good thing about his numbed state of consciousness is that he can really be himself now. No more mask, no more fake smiles, no more forced conversations. Gemma’s death has helped him embrace the truth of who he really is, which only makes him retreat further into his own head.

No matter what he does or how hard he tries to be something good, people get hurt because of the mere reality of his existence. Nobody is safe. Even the ones who think they can handle it will break someday, if something beyond his control doesn’t get to them first.

“Is there anything I can get you?” His sweet, beautiful mother offers. He does still feel a little bit of something, apparently. Guilt.

A reason to be alive. Something to kill. More strawberries for these waffles.

He shakes his head and shovels in another bite of food.

“Louis dropped by again this morning.” She says, like it’s out of the ordinary or something.

Harry doesn’t respond.

His boyfriend has tried reaching out to him on numerous occasions, but Harry’s heart just isn’t in it these days. Harry does love him or something, probably, to the best of his own ability anyway, but that word sounds like an alien language to him now. He should’ve figured he’s better off keeping his distance, it’s not as if the universe would send him somebody perfectly suited for him in every way, let alone actually allow them to be happy together for very long. It’s only a matter of time before Harry gets him killed, too. Or ruins his life at the very least.

Liam and Sophia would probably put together a search party around the whole country if Harry ever went missing, but the least he can do is disappear from Louis’s world.

“He really misses you, ya know.” Sophia tries again.

The worst part of that truth is that Harry is physically unable to miss him back. He knows he should, but it’s just not there. Life is simpler with less people in it. And Harry needs simplicity for once.

“We all do.”

“Thanks for breakfast.” Harry dismisses himself for work, abandoning half a plate of food he can’t bear to stomach with the thought of Louis suddenly nagging in his mind.

*

Working the glass doesn’t warm his heart like he remembers it used to, but it’s easy. Freeing. He doesn’t have to think so much about things he can’t change. In the studio, there’s only colors and shapes. That fits in his head nicely, makes perfect sense.

“Your mother is starting to worry.” Liam opens up when Harry’s caught in the middle of a project that afternoon. No escape.

“I’ll be honest, I’m a little concerned too.”

Thing is, Harry doesn’t care. He can’t care. He wants to, so desperately wants to feel something again, anything, but it’s just not there in him anymore. He’s not sure there’s anything worth devoting that amount of energy to, even if he wanted to try.

“You shouldn’t.” He says honestly. He’s not exactly worth worrying about either.

“I know we don’t really talk about things like you and Soph do, but… you know you can always come to me with your problems too, right?” Liam presses. “Especially this one.”

How could you possibly understand?

“I lost my father when I was around your age.” He goes on as if he’d read Harry’s mind. “My mother wasn’t far behind. So… just so you know. You’re not alone. I’m here for you, too.”

Harry sighs. Maybe he wishes he was alone, though. No wonder so many killers live their life as loners. No one to pry, to care, to worry, to bother.

Mothers are usually easier to open up to in Harry’s experience, but if he’s sticking with that new philosophy of not hiding himself anymore…

“I don’t feel anything.” Harry says. Not even relief from the admission of his loss of soul.

“That’s normal.” Liam nods. “You’re grieving. Traumatized, even. Your sister’s reappearance probably brought up a lot of stuff from your past, too. It’s totally normal to feel empty for a while.”

Except this is different. When Harry lost his mother, he was upset. When he and Gemma were separated for the first time, he was distraught. Granted, neither one of them died then, and it wasn’t his own fault, but that’s exactly why this is different. It’s worse, and yet Harry still can’t summon the most basic human reaction towards any of it.

“I can’t imagine I’ll never feel…”

Did he even have real emotions before, or was he just so good at faking it that he’d managed to fool even himself? Does he really know what love is? Has he ever felt true happiness? Or despair? Or did he just know that’s how he was supposed to feel in those moments and act accordingly?

The one thing he knows for sure is that something died in him the night he walked in on his birth mother’s ritual. Or awakened, depending on how one chooses to look at it. Whatever might have been left within him took a fatal bullet to the face with his sister anyway.

“…like myself again.”

This is how it’s supposed to be. Serial killers don’t have feelings. They don’t have a conscience, or know how to properly care for anyone. Something in their brains is just missing, and there simply is no fixing that. No sane person would willingly stop a heart, chop up the body, burn it to ashes, and go on about their days like none of it ever happened. No whole person would need that routine to feel alive.

Why should Harry assume he’s some kind of exception?

“That’s normal, too.” Liam comforts. “Death changes you. You probably won’t ever be the same as before… but you’ll be okay again someday. I know it’s hard to believe now, but time heals. It does.”

Time never healed anything for him. Or Gemma. Or Anne.

He nods anyway, letting Liam feel like his advice has made an impact.

Liam sighs, clearly not buying Harry’s little act, but he must realize by now how futile it is trying to get through to his own son by now. He moves to more pressing matters.

“Look, I know there’s really no right time to do this, but…” He pauses to gauge Harry’s reaction, “The police have been pushing for that follow up interview again.”

Oh, right. There was a short conversation with everybody connected to Gemma through Harry, but they’d all been cleared right away. Him on the other hand, with his stiffness, blank staring, and brief replies to all their probing questions, raised enough red flags that he won’t be let off the hook so easily.

With Gemma not having a paper trail or any sort of identification in whatever fancy DNA database the police have access to, it’s been pretty hard to close her case. Harry, being the only one who spent a significant amount of time with her in Miami, must know something, right?

Niall assured him the cops won’t be able to find anything on her if he couldn’t, but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop trying.

“I’ll drop by after my shift.” Harry shrugs.

*

Something about walking straight into the homicide department, crawling with detectives and other badged officials stirs his heart into alert. Getting away with murder isn’t half as satisfying as looking into the eyes of the people whose lives revolve around catching killers while they haven’t a clue the amount of blood on his hands. He’s not even entirely sure of those numbers himself, but he knows they’d all be foaming at the mouth to get their hands on a case like his.

That’s not what he’s in for, though. All he has to do is answer some simple questions about his dead sister, who he truly didn’t kill himself. Not directly anyway.

“So, Harry…” The detective starts when Harry’s comfortably seated across from her, in the middle of the bustling precinct. He can’t recall her name, but her sharp features and hair almost as thin as her frame are familiar to him from the first time.

“The last time we met, you said your sister showed up at your house out of nowhere, if I remember right? You weren’t expecting her at all?”

“True.” Harry nods. There’s movement all around the department; cops discussing mostly business matters provide the background noise to their conversation. People shuffling through papers at their desks, coffee cups being sipped and snacks crunching in his ears. His skin sparks into hyperawareness.

“What did you say her reasons were?”

“She wanted to reconnect.” Harry recites, staying focused on the natural intensity of her dark eyes. “We were separated by foster homes as kids, so I hadn’t known her for most of our lives.”

“Yes, we managed to find plenty of public records on you over the years.” The detective says. Morgan, Harry notices her nametag now. Detective Debra Morgan. He’s seen her face on TV while searching for escaped criminals for his next target. She’s quite good at what she does, though hopefully not enough to sense anything off about Harry himself.

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

“The homes, your adoptive parents, living situation, jobs, everything.” She goes on, watching him closely, “But nothing about any blood siblings mentioned in any of them. Know anything about that?”

Just that she erased herself from existence to escape ever being found and charged for the murders of her entire family.

“She never spoke of her past.” Harry says simply. “I only knew that she was in Miami to find me. Said she wanted a fresh start.”

“Very fresh, apparently.” Debra prompts. “She never had any I.D.s on her? How did she expect to find a job or a place of her own?”

“I don’t know.” Harry says, completely honest this time. “We hadn’t talked much about it yet. I told her she was welcome to stay with me as long as she needed.”

“A strange woman shows up on your doorstep after years of no contact, claiming you’re related… No job, no assets, asks for a place to stay, and you have no questions for her at all?” Debra is obviously not interested in his surface version of the story.

“Not everyone works in law enforcement, Detective.” Harry counters. “She looked like my sister… and maybe you wouldn’t understand, but it felt like I knew her. So yes, I trusted my gut. And I was patient with her, as I’d be with any other person I consider family, however estranged they may be.”

“Estranged like your infamous mother who lives in a cell on death row these days?” Debra tries.

Harry blinks. She does deal with death and murder on a daily basis; something Harry sometimes tends to forget is a serious matter.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to imply.” He’s careful to keep any body language that could be misconstrued as a tell under wraps.

“No implications.” She backs down, if only an inch or two. “Just sharing facts. Putting forth my best effort to find out what happened to this woman you called family. I can’t do that without all the information.”

“My sister shot herself in the face. I watched it happen, Debra.” The more reckless part of his psyche starts to get bold with his attitude. “Do you have any idea what that’s like? To watch somebody you care about kill themself in front of you, and not be able to do anything to save them? Can you even imagine?”

That stops her in her tracks for a moment, so Harry runs with it.

“Do you have any siblings, Deb?” The question come out as if it were a taunt aimed at one of his own victims.

“Detective Morgan.” She eyes him carefully, offering with hesitation, “I have a brother, yes.”

“Are you close?” Harry takes back some small semblance of his power, turning the mood of the interrogation around on her instead.

“Yeah. Very.” She says.

“Then you should be able to empathize.” His voice rises in a slow crescendo from the start of his rather aggressive defense to the end of it.

“Imagine standing by as you try to talk him out of ending his own life. What do you think you’d do if he wasn’t hearing you? If he just kept saying he deserved to die, no matter how you tried to convince him otherwise. How do you think you’d react upon watching him put a gun to his face and pull the trigger? Think you’d be able to forget the spray of his blood on your clothes, the image of the face you’ve laughed with and confided in since you were young, reduced to nothing but an unrecognizable lump of mushy, reddened flesh before your eyes? Hm? Do you think that’s something that ever leaves you alone? Tell me, I wanna know. What do you think is the appropriate way to grieve the trauma of being physically present for the horrific suicide of a loved one, because I don’t seem to be doing it right by Miami Metro’s standards.”

He’s attracted a little bit of attention now; nothing show stopping, but certainly a few pairs of observant cop eyes begin to examine him. One pair in particular, through a large glass room place directly behind Debra’s desk in the very back of the building. Right in Harry’s line of vision. These eyes stand out to him because they trigger his spidey sense. His monster recognition, if you will.

But that can’t be right, can it? A murderer who works in the homicide department? Law enforcement, yeah, but this is a whole other realm, one that Harry’s never considered. These people investigate deaths and solve murders for a living, and here this guy is sitting, right under their noses. Harry’s inclined to ignore the buzzer in his head like it can’t possibly be true, except for the fact that the man attached to these eyes seems to stare back in exactly the same way.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Harry.” Debra leans forward now, her voice gone softer as she folds her hands together across the table. Harry brings his focus back to the conversation.

“You’re right, I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you, or what you’ve been through since.” It’s the same sympathetic bullshit spun by every cop in the working world, to get people to open up to them. Be relatable. Show compassion. Manipulate.

Problem is, Harry’s truth has already been spilled to the last drop. There’s genuinely nothing else he can offer them about her death, save for the info that would slander her name and drag his own ass through the mud with it. Which she doesn’t seem to realize isn’t an option here.

“And I’m sorry that we had to bring you here again today.” She goes on.

“But I’m just trying to do my job... for you too. You are the only one who spent a significant amount of time with her while she was in town. So, if you could just think for me… for her, about any information you have regarding the circumstances of her death, we could all benefit from some peace of mind in closing this case.”

“It is a closed case.” He says, lost in his analyzation of the glass room. Is that a blood sample the guy is holding up to the light? “Didn’t forensics find her prints all over the gun? What more do you guys need?”

“A name, residence, passport, I.D., paper trail, something.” She presses.

“Gemma Styles.” Harry says, through strained teeth. “Her name was Gemma Styles.”

“According to you, yes. And I do believe your story checks out.” Debra acknowledges. “We just can’t write it off without something a bit more official, though. Legal.”

Because I’ve never been anything but a good, law abiding citizen, right?

The man’s sixth sense can read Harry’s own. He looks up to establish that intense level of eye contact again. He can definitely see something in Harry. Does he know that Harry sees him, too? This man could probably find Harry with just a couple questions around the office, so he hopes there’s enough going on to keep him busy for now.

Or not. The one thing Harry does still care about is preventing another Gemma situation from happening to his parents. He can’t risk getting caught again by killing another cop, even in self-defense.

“Am I under arrest?” Harry asks suddenly, scraping the legs of his chair against the linoleum floor as he stands to leave.

The detective pauses, sighing in defeat before finally giving in.

“No sir, you’re not.”

“I’ll just be on my way, then.” Harry excuses himself with a polite nod. Nothing would make this worse than storming out of the station in anger while all these cops watched on. How embarrassing would it be to lose his cool in front of a killer who manages to live undetected among a whole department of detectives on a daily basis?

“Okay.” She says, standing up to complete the awkward interaction with a mirrored motion. “Please, call us if you remember anything else.”

“Good day, Detective.” Harry nods on his way out the door.

*

With the MPD having no legal reason to keep pestering him, Harry’s life lulls back into a simple routine that barely fulfills his obligations to the only two people guaranteed a spot in his life no matter what. He doesn’t call Louis. Or Niall. Or do anything except work, eat for the sake of sustaining his body, and fall into bed at night to stare at the ceiling until sleep embraces him.

He doesn’t miss anyone, or kill anyone, or yearn for anything except the numbness to go away.

His circle won’t give up on him, though.

“I have something for you.” Niall says when Harry finally answers his call one night. After six tries in a row, he decided it must be marginally important.

“What’s that?” He asks flatly.

“It’s a surprise. Have you got a pen on hand?” Niall asks.

“Not really in the mood for surprises.” Harry says.

“Trust me, you’re in the mood for this one.” Niall urges. “Write this down.”

Harry grabs a marker from the drawer of the nightstand by his bed and scribbles the number and street name Niall recites on the back of his arm.

“An address?” Harry wonders.

There’s only one mission Niall could be sending him at nearly midnight on a Tuesday, and it’s certainly nowhere nice and safe. Harry hopes good ’ol Miami Metro’s truly off his case for now.

“Just get dressed and go right away. I promise you’ll love it.” The line clicks dead after that.

*  
The surprise’s name is Thomas Tucker and he’s lying unconscious on the floor of his living room with his wrists and ankles bound by rope when Harry lets himself in. There’s a tiny dot on the side of his neck where someone injected him with something strong, although Harry can’t imagine Niall would ever do that with his own hands.

He must really, really love Harry. Would Harry ever compromise his own beliefs for any of the people he claims matter so much to him?

A small stack of papers lies on the ground next to Tucker’s body, and closer examination reveals the perfectly organized portfolio of his history. Just like the collage Harry’s seen on Louis’s walls before. Bright bloody photos collected from crime scenes, articles describing the young women’s fates as tragic and unexpected moments of weakness, fingerprints and DNA proof that say none of these victims actually took their own lives.

This guy disguised his four kills as suicides and got away with it somehow. In the eyes of the law.

Harry on the other hand, suddenly has feelings again. Well, one feeling. Rage.

His next moves play out by instinct. He lifts the limp figure up, throws it over his shoulder, hauls it out the back door to where he brings his car around and dumps the criminal in the trunk. Drives off without noticing a single other person nearby, and heads towards the studio.

Louis is waiting outside when Harry carries his next kill to the door.

“What are you doing here?” He wonders, without any genuine interest.

Empty or not, he still recognizes beauty when he sees it, and Louis will always be the most stunning person he’s ever laid eyes on. It just doesn’t make Harry want like it used to. He’s only a little startled by Louis’s presence there at all. He’s been thinking that surely Louis must’ve taken his silence offensively and decided to move on by now.

“Ouch.” Louis says. “Thought you might be like, glad to see me or something.”

“I’m…” Angry. So fucking angry at the world that somebody has to die for it.

“Ready to kill. Got it.” Louis understands.

“Right.” Harry nods awkwardly, slumping forward to let the body roll off his shoulders and land on the cement with a brutal thump. He unlocks the door to the studio and steps inside, carelessly dragging the victim behind him. “So, I’ll just… get started, then.”

“Mind if I stay?” Louis’s eyes plead.

Kind of.

Harry’s barely spoken to him since Gemma, barely spoken to anyone, barely felt like monster or human or anything in between. He certainly hasn’t killed since his sister’s death, so he’s almost not sure what to expect himself.

“Guess so.” Harry says anyway. Maybe he’ll end up seeing some side of Harry neither of them expects and it’ll be enough to scare him off too.

The guy’s already bound and gagged, it’s just a matter of waiting until the victim wakes up. When he does, Harry crouches by his head to look him in the eyes. He’s vaguely aware of Louis’s watchful presence in the background, but mainly it’s just Harry and his victim. As it should be.

“If you scream I’ll rip your tongue out before anyone can hear it.” He warns before peeling the tape off, quick and hard.

“What’s this about?” The guy sputters.

“Good question.” Harry hums. “Technically, it’s about the suicides. Realistically, it’s about getting back to my old self again. You’re supposed to help somehow.”

“W-What suicides? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your old friends already.” Harry says. “I know for a fact that their families haven’t.”

“Listen, dude, whatever it is you’re after, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“That’s what they all say.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” Tucker begs.

Harry inhales a breath and lets it go slowly. “My sister killed herself… very recently.”

That. Even just saying the words out loud drains whatever bit of rationality Harry’s ever had in him, as if there were even anything left to take.

“It happened just a couple of weeks ago, so your crimes hit a bit of a nerve for me.”

“Why do I care about your dead sister?” He spits, and Harry loses it. His vision goes almost black as he reaches out to grip the guy’s neck between his palm, squeezing the air right out of his lungs.

“Because I cared about my dead sister!”

Harry lets the guy struggle for a few more beats, watching his eyes bulge and his face turn dark red to almost purple before finally loosening his hold and letting the guy gulp for all the oxygen he can get. He’s not meant to die that way.

“The people who cared about those girls will never get the peace that they deserve.” Harry muses. “They’ll blame themselves. They weren’t there when their loved ones needed it. They didn’t help as much as they should’ve. Didn’t notice the signs.”

If Harry’d only found her when they were younger. If he’d only been able to relate to her more. If only he weren’t out satisfying his own needs all the time instead, he would’ve been there for her on her rough nights. He would’ve noticed some signs, maybe. If only she hadn’t caught him about to uncage the monster.

“I wish I knew it was murder instead.” Harry thinks out loud. “I wish I didn’t have to believe it was her own choice to die. Murder would be easier to deal with than this.”

He did murder her too, in a way. If he’d been more careful, or if… if… mom hadn’t raised him this way at all. If he could just be a normal person, maybe his life would be too. Maybe his sister wouldn’t have flown off the handle, maybe she wouldn’t have decided the two of them weren’t meant to be here.

“I killed her.” Harry realizes, face frozen in shock. “I’m the reason she couldn’t take it anymore. Anne and I both.”

No matter how hard he tries, he’ll always end up being just like his mother in the end.

“Maybe you should kill yourself too, then.” Tucker sneers.

“Fuck you!” Harry growls, standing up to kick him in the stomach. Twice, three times, once in the face. He hears a bone crack at some point, and when Tucker rolls over there’s blood running down from his nose.

“I did those girls a favor!” He literally spits a mixture of blood and saliva. “They didn’t appreciate their lives anyway!”

Harry scoffs, heading over to the table to choose his weapon. He mulls it over for a brief moment, deciding he really needs to stab something. Maybe even slice a neck and feel the wound, just as a tribute to the perpetually destructive mommy dearest who started it all.

“Pick the spade. Make him hurt.” Louis’s voice suggests, somehow still on the same wavelength after all their time apart.

“I’m about to do you a favor, too.” Harry turns back to his bound victim, sharpening the tool in his hand to inspire a bit of fear in the offender’s heart.

He stands over his target, considering how to proceed before crouching back down again.

“Please.” Tucker begs, like there’s any inkling of a chance that Harry would change his mind at this point.

“You really want that to be your last word?” Harry asks, pressing the edge of the blade against his victim’s neck.

“You won’t get away with it, either!” Tucker seeths instead.

“We’ll see.” Harry smiles, dragging his weapon across the bob of the Adam’s Apple. Just enough so the blood squirts up onto his face, gushes down the victim’s throat, makes the guy choke and sputter and gasp for air.

His suffering does something to Harry’s chest. As he watches the life slowly drain from this monster’s eyes, he feels… fuller, somehow. Nothing that could be described as an emotion, more like the emptiness subsides for just long enough that he thinks he might be able to care about something again.

He reaches out to play with the incision, just as an absentminded comfort of sorts. Runs his fingers along the length of it, feels the erratic pulse against his skin. His victim’s useless flailing slowly fades away and Harry replays his last scene with Gemma in his head, her tearful eyes and the splash of brains across his memories.

That leads his head back to the night that changed him. His mother’s words echo in his ears as if she were sitting right there, whispering them herself.

Don’t worry, they’ll be so much better off without you…

The gravity of his situation sinks in; hoping to find his old self buried somewhere deep in this hideous excuse of a person’s still beating heart. The heart he plans to stop in just a few seconds, because nothing fucking makes sense in his head anymore and he just wants his world to go back to normal, and what the fuck does normal even mean for him now anyway?

In a futile attempt at distraction from the raging mess inside him, he jams the shaping spade right into Tucker’s chest next. Fully stopping his heart with one final motion. Watching the crimson puddle spread faster underneath the lifeless body. Wishing for any kind of escape from both the new Harry and the old.

It’s silent in the dark of the studio for a minute or so before he stands up and wordlessly starts the cleaning process. He grabs the old saw from his sleeve of tools and gets to work on the limbs, missing the excitement, the throb of his own heart in his ears when he literally sees red in the results of his severance routine.

It’s not until he lights up the incinerator that Louis has something to say again.

“Feel better?” He asks, gentle and sweet. Caring. Harry could puke at the truth of his own answer.

Feels like I’m going fucking insane.

“I think I need to visit my birth mother.” Is what comes out instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and especially comments mean so much to me! Thank you love you all <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to say. "Sorry for the wait" doesn't really seem appropriate considering it's been well over a year since this story was updated lmfao. I'm literally the worst but hey here you go anyway!!! Enjoy!!!!
> 
> Previously on BHD: Harry's grieving the loss of his sister by becoming something like what he thinks a serial killer should be. Everyone is sad about it. In the end, Harry decided to go see his birth mother.

Harry learned a long time ago that a prisoner can spend an average of 13 years on death row before the legal system might even begin to work its magic. Some people have lived in that confinement for up to 40, and most even end up dying of natural causes before anything else. Unfortunately Virginia is known to have one of the quickest execution rates in the U.S., so Harry has to call around to find out if she’s even still alive and whether or not his name is on her list of approved visitors.  
  
She is, and he is.  
  
It makes no logical sense for all the pain she’s caused to not be immediate grounds for full force punishment, but if he knows his mother at all he can bet that she’s done everything in her limited power to save her own ass for as long as possible. Something sneaky and underhanded like a classic evidence disappearance or appealing to the judicial system’s moral compass. Harry’s a little ashamed that his mind is even in the same realm of thinking like hers.  
  
Either way,  _glad for the chance to see her again_  doesn’t quite fit what the feels when Louis confirms the flight and penthouse suite by the water in the city of Virginia Beach are booked. Harry grew up in the suburbs nearby, but he’s spent enough time in the tourist trap parts of his home state that he promised to show Louis around once his intended mission is complete.  
  
_Glad he and Louis are on speaking terms again_  doesn’t even seem to agree with his gut. He’s settled into this sort of surreal head-space where nothing really matters on a significant level anymore. Maybe things will feel normal again someday, but either way he’s learned the biggest lesson. Life is just life and it keeps on going whether his heart is in it or not.  
  
His boyfriend is determined to stick around and support him with whatever the hell he’s going through at the moment, so Harry’s stopped trying to push him away. Too much effort, too much guilt, and Harry’s sick of feeling like this anyway. Or not feeling like anything, rather. He just wants to get back to his old self again. He misses being happy about things, the anticipation of a fresh kill, the serenity of finishing a new glass project, the contentment of his boyfriend’s company.  
  
Maybe a romantic weekend away from Miami could do him some good. He can bet that’s what Louis is hoping.  
  
  
“Call me if you need anything. Even just to talk. You know I’m glad to be your personal therapist any time.” Louis kisses his cheek before he leaves the hotel on their first day in town.  
  
Harry insisted he go out and try to enjoy the city. Not only is he tired of being such a downer, but this confrontation is something he absolutely has to do alone.  
  
He’s sure he’ll be thoroughly searched, maybe even stripped bare before granted any sort of access to the building, so he keeps it as minimal as possible. T-shirt. Jeans. Keys. ID. A little bit of cash, and nothing else.  
  
He does the two hour ride out to the middle of nowheresville by himself, mind racing faster than the shiny black rental car with all the things he wants to say to her. He imagines making a dramatic scene, storming in and yelling right in her face.  
  
_Fuck you for ruining my life, you’re the worst excuse of a mother anyone could ever have, you made your own son into a killer, indirectly murdered your own daughter, I wish we’d never been born, I wish you’d never been born, you deserve everything that happens to you, why aren’t you fucking dead yet? You selfish, ugly, monster, I hate you I hate you I hate you_  
  
Security passes him through in a distracted haze, blood boiling by the second. He has to remind himself where he is, tries his very best to control the smoldering behind his eyes for fear that one of the officers will notice something feral in them too. Not that they have any evidence to convict him, but the idea of these harshly trained authorities watching him so carefully when all he wants to do is wrap his hands around a throat and watch the life drain sets his nerves on the very edge of the earth.  
  
  
Finally, a uniform leads him down a long, dimly lit hallway. He walks by a handful of other offenders behind their heavy-duty, reinforced glass walls, waiting for their visitors. Hardened criminals in orange jumpsuits, decked out in prison tats. So much variety among their builds and skin tones and faces, yet they all seem to possess the same disheveled look complete with deep, sickening emptiness in their eyes.  
  
Even being the practiced killer he is, his stomach lurches at their repeating images. Maybe  _because_  of the practiced killer he is that makes it worse, like looking into his own inevitable future.  
  
  
The guard stops at her cell, and so does Harry’s heart.

  
She’s looking right at him.  _She’s actually looking right at him._  
  
  
Talk about being the poster child for fucking mommy issues.

  
He can’t fully comprehend how much she’s changed at first. The careful, loving woman he last saw up close has morphed into something sinister and broken. Her face dragged down by gravity, the pitch black hairs on her head thinned and greyed over the years. She looks… just like the rest of them. A hardened criminal. Something he always had trouble facing when he thought of her in past tense, but the proof stares him head on now.

She doesn’t say anything at first, and Harry wouldn’t be able to hear her without picking up the chunky plastic phone on the wall between them anyway. She just stares at him, slowly blinking back as she assess the person he’s become after all these years without her guidance.

The corner of her mouth twists up into a tiny fraction of the hands-down creepiest smirk he’s ever seen. And that’s saying something, considering his brain can conjure up at least a dozen trademark sociopathic grins on the spot.

This specific one chills him to the bone.

The guard has walked off, but of course there’s cameras pointed above and he knows their call will be monitored, so words have to be chosen carefully. He takes the deepest breath he can muster before reaching his hand out towards the direct line between them. She does the same.

They haven’t seen each other in person since the day he and Gemma stood on the front lawn to watch her get forced into the back of a patrol car, and the first thing she has to say to him is, “Took you long enough.”

He doesn’t even know how to respond to that. Bold of her to assume he’d want to come see her at all, ever.

“I stalled as much as I could, but my date is officially set for next week.” She keeps talking.

Strange that he would feel this irresistible pull all of a sudden, as if there’s some greater cosmic reason that he needed to speak to her before it was too late.  
  
“You look so nice.” She goes on in this sickening motherly tone, “All grown up. Worried I might not get to see you this way.”  
  
“And whose fault is that?” Harry’s mouth seems to move on behalf of his brain’s knee-jerk reaction.

She smiles, but it’s devoid of any actual human emotion.  
  
“You’re angry.” She concludes from the tone of his voice.

The last version of him that she knew was just an awkward little boy, always looking to her for support and advice. That version of Harry respected her, admired her, actually wanted to be just like her someday.

Who he’s grown into has long since seen the error of his naïvety, but his silence over the years is the only way she could’ve guessed that.

“You’re gonna die in a steel fortress, mom.”  _That’s_  something he never in a million years expected to slip out, “I—I’m… not normal. I’m not a good person. And Gemma’s gone now, and that’s your fault too. Or mine… or whatever. Of course I’m fucking angry. My whole life is one big mess that keeps leading back to you.”

“She did find you, then. That’s good. How’s she doing?” She asks like this is just a normal, casual conversation between long lost family.  
  
“She killed herself.” Harry snaps. “In front of me. While crying about what you’ve done to us.”  
  
“You told her?” Her eyes bulge slightly now. The first indicative reaction he’s gotten from her so far, and it’s not even geared towards the news of her daughter’s suicide.  
  
“Did you even hear what I said?” Harry raises his voice. “She killed herself, ma. Gemma’s gone.”  
  
“No fucking duh she did! Probably because you couldn’t keep your big mouth shut! What did you think would happen?” Anne scolds, diverting right back to her favorite tactic of pushing all the blame onto him for everything that goes wrong, as if the only amount of time that’s passed between them is a day of work and school. No wonder it’s his natural instinct to take the load of it onto his back no matter what.

He shouldn’t have had to come all the way here to figure it out, but the realization dawns on him in that moment.   
  
“You don’t even care.” He should’ve let her die abandoned and alone, like she deserves.  
  
He’s so fucking stupid. To hope anything would come out of facing her besides more empty words and false sincerity at this point is just… psychopathic. She’s been fully aware of every bad decision she’s made her whole life, so why would he think having to sit with them behind bars might have actually given her some sort of perspective?

Of course she doesn’t care. She never cared about anything but herself.

“Of course I care.” She counters the thought with a useless lie.

Harry can’t remember the last time he actually cried about something, but he came pretty damn close when Gemma died. The woman who birthed her doesn’t even sound choked up as she rambles according to her own agenda.

“That’s my baby. You both are.” She’s still trying to work him over, but he’s not even hearing it at this point. Nothing she says can ever be taken to heart. The proof is in where it’s gotten him so far. “This is exactly why I never wanted her to know.”  
  
“Why did you keep going?” He blurts. The question feels like a thousand grand pianos lifted from his shoulders.

It hushes her for a long moment as she idles in front of him, probably trying to come up with some sort of sob story to influence his sympathy for her again. It’s incredible how much he’s wised to her game after all this time and the wisdom of free thought that comes with age. He wishes he could reach back in time and tell his younger self what he knows about her now, maybe stop all of this from snowballing out of control before it’s too late. The ache within him to protect that little child latches its claws around his heart, forcing him to relive the flashes.

_You should’ve been in bed…_

_Don’t you have any friends you can bug today?_

_Killed any innocent baby animals lately, have you?_

_If you’d just learn to control yourself…_

_Probably because you couldn’t keep your big mouth shut!_  
  
She steals his attention away from all her accusations over the years to counter his question with a simple one of her own.

“Could you?”

  
The cameras pointed at her cell begin to sear holes into the back of his head while the question bounces around between his ears. He likes to think that looking into the eyes of his own children would be enough to fight who he is, but… there’s also a reason he’s never planned to have them either.

He looks into his parent’s eyes every day and still does what he does. He saw Niall’s reservations about letting Louis live, and Harry still did what he wanted to anyway. He looked Gemma in the face as the truth of his identity physically destroyed her, and still. He kills.  
  
He can’t imagine a life for himself where he doesn’t. He can’t imagine having kids period, but hypothetically if they were waiting for him at home right now, they’d greet him with hugs and kisses and not a single idea what he does with his free time. He and Louis would wait until they were sure the house was asleep, and then they’d sneak out under the cover of night. Maybe just one or the other, so at least one of them could be home in case the kids woke up. But then, something about the thrill just isn’t the same without Louis by his side anymore.

Could he really ever just… stop killing, for anyone?

Maybe a large part of all the resentment he’s been dragging around is actually geared towards himself. He’s spent his whole life hating all her worst qualities and yet the similarities between the two of them become more glaring with every passing day.

“You guys had everything you needed.” Anne continues her answer. “A roof over your head, food on your plates, nice school, big yard, toys to play with, a mother who listened, who helped, who read you stories and tucked you into bed at night. I did everything I had to for you.”

“Until you got caught.” Harry reminds her. “We had everything until you got caught.”

“My only regret.” She says, the weight of her words slicing him deep with the gut of their meaning.

“You did all of that for you.” She’ll never admit it, but at least he finally gets it now. “Sure we had what we needed, but only because if we didn’t, you wouldn’t have gotten what you needed.”

Had they no place to rest their heads, when would she have been able to sneak off for a kill? Unhappy, malnourished, home schooled children quickly draw the public attention, something she couldn’t have. She made sure they were taken care of, because without a steady false life in place, where would she be able to hide herself?

He realizes this because his own logic whispers in the back of his mind, the way he would do things in her position.

Does he really care about the things he claims to, or does he just want to seem normal? Isn’t that what every desire of his stems from? The need to fit in, to be the person everybody on the outside expects him to be?  
  
“I could’ve given you away. Let you starve. Left you at home without any supervision.” She argues.

“Thanks. Mother of the year.” His voice is dry as can be.

 

Everything he’s ever done or sense of emotion he’s ever felt can be traced back to his own needs.

He loves his parents because they’re good people who treat him kindly, and it makes him look good. He loves Niall for his acceptance of Harry’s monster, his willingness to put his talents to use helping Harry feed it. Louis, because he sees something in Harry that can’t possibly exist, but it makes him feel good to believe in it.

His whole life is built on the basis of needing certain characters and elements to make up a believable story, not because he actually  _wants_  any of it, nevermind for the benefit of anybody else in his life. That’s not something he even considers on a daily basis, not in a real way. Just in the way that if they’re not satisfied with something he’s doing, how is that going to affect his life and the image of it?

The only thing he really wants at the end of the day, is blood on his hands.

Everything else is just a complicated side step to actually getting it.

 

“Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Sometimes back and forth, sometimes all at once.” She recites the stages of grief like she’s still his teacher, though he can see now that she studies him more like a test subject than anything. “I can name them, describe what they mean, identify them in others… but I never really understood these things until I had you. Always so curious, so interested and engaged… Emotional. It was just weird to me. The world says that because of who you are there’s nothing in your heart, but you are so… different. I’ve always seen it in you.”

So maybe he’s not that crazy after all.

“How did you expect me to react to your sister’s death?” She’s looking to him now, wondering about something she has no experience with. Feelings. “You got angrier when I just jumped right to acceptance, but that’s how my heart works. It’s how yours should… I know that logically, she was my daughter. I should be heartbroken. I should feel something, at least.”

But she simply doesn’t know how, and there’s no reason for her to pretend anymore. No reason to try and fake like she’s human, especially not in front of the one person there’s never been any walls around.

“It upsets you that I don’t, but I think you’re old enough to face reality now.” She says, her voice growing softer with something that could easily be misconstrued as melancholy if she weren’t in the middle of explaining how impossible a feeling like that is for her.

“You’re right. I cared about our family in my own way, for my own reasons.” She admits. “Since those reasons no longer apply, I am psychologically incapable of being affected by it.”

“’Fuck her’, basically, is what you’re telling me.” Harry summarizes.

She pauses for a moment before shrugging her shoulders, stone-cold face to match.

 

Part of him wishes he could be so free from the binds of his heartstrings. Here she stands, days away from death, having lost everything she ever built her life around besides Harry himself, and yet she remains calm as the eye of the storm. Empty. If he ever found himself in her shoes, he’d be distraught until the very last breath. Just thinking about letting go of everything he loves brings a heaviness around his soul.

Maybe he’s not just like her after all.

“Why did you choose your victims, then? If not because hurting innocent people felt bad.” Harry wonders.

“To be honest, I enjoyed the challenge. Abusive men always put up a fight. Some of them could get really nasty.” Her eyes visibly unfocus as she stares off into space, probably caught up in a mini montage of her best moments. “It felt good to overpower them, so I stuck to it… I never really confirmed or denied all that media bullshit about my morals or whatever. I figured it could help my case if people thought I had some good in me.”

“So all that stuff about… with the rabbit.” Harry phrases it carefully for the watchful eyes of security.

“I couldn’t very well have people in the neighborhood start missing their pets now, could I?”

So she told him not to kill innocent things, because where’s a kid supposed to find a human criminal to get his hands on? He didn’t figure that one out until he was 21 years old, and even looking back on that these days makes his head ache with the amount of careless mistakes.

 

//

 

 _What was I thinking what was I thinking what was I thinking?! What the fuck was I thinking._  His mind screamed as he flew down the highway in a stolen car with a drugged fugitive in the backseat on a typically bright, beautiful, bustling day in sunny Florida.

He’d seen the woman’s face on TV. Everyone had, the case was highly publicized Nationwide for weeks. Leslie Lopes was on trial for the abandonment and murder of her two-year old daughter, Bethany, among other things. Blatant lies to police is what raised the flags, but Harry felt in his heart that anybody who loved their child and wanted to bring them safely home would not hide the fact that they were missing for a whole month before the body was found.

The country was divided, as was the jury, but something in the back of his head kept screaming that she did it. She definitely did it. Every time he saw her face it was clear as a freshly cleaned mirror. His blood boiled every time she spoke. He’d have kidnapped the lawyers too if he could get his hands on them.

When the event was over, she disappeared into hiding and nobody saw her for months. He’d all but forgotten about it until the fateful encounter

 

It was just a regular day. He used to start every day with a fresh Powdered Spiral from the bakery down the street from his house, back when his daily routine was essential in distracting his mind from his destructive urges.  
  
That morning, he stood in line behind a woman with short, blonde hair, loose little swirls bouncing along with the slight movement of her head. He let himself be a little mesmerized by their animation, so his attention was distracted when she happened to turn around and bump right into him, smushing her chocolate donut against his nice white shirt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She fretted, fumbling to grab her napkins to wipe him off.

He was a little annoyed, but it wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. A plain T-shirt is replaceable enough, he had at least 6 more folded in his drawers at home.

More than anything, he was instantly furious. The wig she wore disguised her enough to the public view, but as soon as he recognized those beady little eyes, he could’ve strangled her to death right there. Used his keys to slash her neck like mom used to do. Broke the display case with her head and shoved her face into the glass shards until she bled out;  _what a lovely sight would that be?_  His brain came up with a thousand different scenarios on the spot.

“I keep a change of clothes in my car for this, I am so clumsy.” She said, smearing the sugary mess further into his shirt. He was afraid to physically stop her from doing so, in case he couldn’t control the urge burning within him.

Thankfully, the universe had sent him an outlet. The gears in his head began to turn, figuring he’d found the perfect window.

“I—uh, okay. Something that fits me?” Leslie was rather tiny, but he’d make it work. It’s not as if he would have actually worn it though. He planned to dirty his own shirt further anyway.

“Yeah, oh yeah. It’s big on me, so it should be fine.” She chatted, grabbing his hand to drag him outside. He couldn’t believe the amount of opportunity here. Had he been asked in the moment, he would’ve swore there was a God who loved him enough to send him a gift of appreciation; a go-ahead, the okay, a glaring green light.

They were still in a public setting, sure, but by the time they reached her SUV, Harry’s salivating monster had decided the risk factor was worth the reward.

“It’s a plain shirt like yours, but it is pink. Hope that’s not a—”

It all happened so fast, even in his memory of it now. He gave a quick look around the lot, into the shop to check that nobody was paying attention. He could’ve been more thorough, but he was young and reckless and tempted by the promise of human blood on his hands, so he acted on the impulse.

He slammed the car door on her head, fast and hard enough to break the skin of her neck. When she started to shout, he shoved her forward into the seat and quickly shut the door. He hesitated for a moment of panic, but when he realized the severity of the level of no turning back he’d gotten himself into, he forced himself to push through the doubt.

He ran around the front of the car and got into the driver’s side, and his victim was still busy holding her neck in pain, tears falling down her checks as she writhed on the floor of her backseat. He reached back to dig in her pockets for the keys, and she gave a startled scream and bit his arm.

“Ow, fuck you!” Harry smacked her across the face.

“Fuck  _you_!” She spat, grabbing his arm and yanking him towards her.

Leaned over her in the backseat, fighting to push her off him, Harry would describe as the single most invigorating moment of his young life. She put up a good struggle, but in the battle of tiny woman vs. his nearly six feet of muscled manpower, she never really stood a chance.

Once both of his hands found her neck, he tightened his grip and locked them in place. He could feel the slick where her blood touched his skin, and he was like a shark who smelled a paper cut. She kept biting, scratching, gurgling with the limited amounts of air left in her lungs, and he just swam faster towards his fresh meal. Her face turned red and the color only deepened and Harry’s effort only increased until her consciousness finally faded out.

He let go, careful not to kill her just yet. Not here. Mom always told him to get somewhere safe, where nobody could possibly be a witness even within earshot. With all his time spent daydreaming of a moment like this, he already knew exactly where to take her.

First things first. He did another quick scan of his surroundings, but still no one had seemed to notice anything wrong. Everyone was too stuck in their own little worlds; faces glued to phone screens, eyes focused on their food or nails or feet, anything but the multitude of life going on around them. Headphones in, lost in their imaginary music videos playing in their heads. He said a little thanks to the distracted nature of post 2010 society for that.

After digging through her purse to find the keys, he started up the car and drove off, heart nearly beating out his chest.

The ride to Liam and Sophia’s was about 20 minutes, but with all the paranoia and adrenaline pumping up his system, he stupidly hadn’t even considered his victim might wake up. His eyes flicked to the backseat when she started kicking at the door handle, trying to open it from the floor.

He had nothing left. He didn’t come prepared with anything to keep her knocked out, he couldn’t very well start choking her again while in the middle of driving, and killing her right here was simply out of the question.

He locked the doors and heard her sobbing increase. She was too weak to move much, but still she flailed around uselessly, trying to accomplish what, he had no idea.

“I didn’t do it.” She cried. “I swear I didn’t. I loved my daughter. I would never.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Harry didn’t want to hear it. He’d already heard it, the whole world had, when she fake-cried her eyes out in court too. There was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise.

“I swear,” She begged, “Please. I—I’m just trying to live my life.”

“So was that little girl.” Harry said, searching through every storage place within reach to find anything that might be used to quiet her again. “If she was so important to you, why wait a whole month to report her disappearance?”

“I didn’t—know.” She choked. “I didn’t know she was gone. My parents—she was staying with them. I didn’t know.”

“Her corpse was found in the trunk of your car.” Harry remembered. He opened the glove compartment; nothing. Under the seats; nothing. The middle compartment; nothing. “How the fuck did you not know?”

She just cried harder, dodging the question. He didn’t care, her noise was just that to him, noise. Block it out, focus on the mission. He pushed the little space above the rear view mirror where shades go, and the metaphorical clouds parted to let the golden rays of sunlight shine through. A hallelujah chorus sang in his ears.

Chloroform.

Lethal amounts found in the autopsy of her child, an actual bottle of it still hidden in her vehicle, all eyes in the world focused on her, and still this woman managed to cheat her way out of a conviction. Like fucking magic.

Her sobbing had softened to a faint plead in the background, while Harry concentrated more on splitting his focus between the road and tipping the open end of the bottle onto a glasses cloth he found somewhere else. He managed to keep the car steady while he reached back to find where her face was.

She jerked her head back and forth to avoid it, but he forced his hand to cover her whole head with the soaked cloth until the moment her body finally succumbed.

  
*

  
His parent’s basement was nearly empty besides the thick coating of dust from being left practically abandoned all his life. The only time people ever went down there was if the house was having electrical problems, or if the central heating system malfunctioned on a rare day that they actually happened to need it. Harry could count the number of times that had been a problem on two fingers.

He tracked some blood through the house as he carried her body over his shoulder and down to the cover of anonymity the underground shelter provided. After securing her to a pole with an industrial sized zip-tie he found in a box of random old tools and trinkets, the first thing he did was ascend the stairs to clean up after himself. Like any good killer would, right?

He grabbed a chopping knife from his mother’s cooking block and took a moment to admire it in a different light. He held the blade to his own neck and pressed it slightly, wondering exactly what his victim would feel. He was tempted to slice his own hand a little, but decided it was best not to get too distracted.

 

She was beginning to come to when he finished covering his tracks and joined her again, but the chemical he drugged her with has been known to make people groggy and loopy as it wears off. He doubted her brain could even make full sense of what was happening, but something in him told him to wait it out. He wanted to pick her brain before the end of it. Maybe she’d be willing to admit her mistakes if she knew it would be her very last chance to do so.

It was the middle of the morning; his parents had only gotten to work an hour ago maybe, so there was no chance of them discovering him anytime soon. He had plenty room to take his time, so he pulled up a chair and watched her gradually regain consciousness.

“Where… am I at?” She asked, trying hard to hold her head up straight enough to look around the room. Her clothes were disheveled and the blood had crusted on her neck, visible through the surrounding purple bruises. Her eyes were droopy and unfocused, her wig crooked on her head to reveal the tangles of dark hair hidden underneath.

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry said, crossing his legs in front of her. “Feel free to scream if you want, though. Nobody will hear you.”

He was only about eighty percent sure the basement was soundproof, but willing to take the chance anyway. At that point, he would have been willing to bet high on his own survival if he jumped in front of a moving train.

“Why are you… doing this?” Her eyes blinked over and over as she tried to focus.

He sighed at that, replaying a brief montage of imaginary blood and killing simulations concocted by his disturbed brain.   
  
“It’s been a long time coming.” He said, simple enough. It’s not as if he was even obligated to justify himself to her at all. Something about hearing the admission out loud in his own voice seemed a little bit therapeutic, though.

“Oh God, I’m gonna die, aren’t I? You’re gonna kill me.” When she noticed the knife in his hand the crying came back again, this time without any tears left. Her torso fell over, limp in her mental weakness. “Please, don’t do this. Please.”

“Did she beg and scream, too?” Harry wondered. “Your little girl. Can you recall the betrayal on her face, or have you managed to block it out somehow?”

“I loved her.” She claimed, face all scrunched up and frowny in that ugly weeping way. “I loved her so, so much.”

“Then why’d you do it?” Harry pressed. He absent-mindedly pinched the chrome tip of the blade between two fingers and dragged them down the length of it.

“It’s so hard.” She cried, staring at the floor as she started to babble, attempting to justify her actions. “Being a mother is  _so_  hard, it never stops! Kids need you for  _everything_. I was young—I’m still young! It’s so much pressure. I—I never expected to have her and I couldn’t… I just wanted it to stop.”

Harry shook his head back and forth, lips pouted like he’d tasted something sour. He knew he wasn’t wrong about this one. His anger was rightfully so—the kill would be a balancing act in the universe’s favor.

“I’m so sorry!” She kept going, “I didn’t mean to, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Maybe try adoption next time.” Harry nearly rolled his eyes, but felt that might be too much of a reaction to such a bullshit, cop-out of an excuse. At least his own murdering mother had never decided to take the easy way out with her own two little problems.

“Oh, oops. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up that there might even be a next time for you.” He corrected. “Sorry, I’m brand new at this. You’re my first human, actually.”

“Please…” Seemed to be all she had left to say, through her pathetic sympathy act.

By then he had gotten tired of listening to her whining anyway, so he figured enough was enough.

  
He stood up, knife in hand, ready to take down his prey. She kept carrying on, but strangely enough, it only fueled the fire even more. He wasn’t nervous or scared, he was excited. This felt like exactly where he was meant to be; a feeling he’d struggled in his search for all of his life until that blessed turning point. 

He thought about the woman’s daughter; the picture of her cute little chubby-cheeked smile plastered all over television screens for days. Wondered how somebody could look into the face of their own flesh and blood, a defenseless child at that, and labeled his next move as the act of justice that poor little girl would have never gotten without his intervention.

Leslie struggled to the very last minute. Harry approached her from the front, and she tried to kick her feet out at him. His brows furrowed, figuring out another course of action, so he moved around to her left side. She leaned over to the right, squirming as much as her little body would allow.

“Sit still!” Harry growled. 

Her tears came back when he squatted to grab her by the neck and hold her in place, and she looked him right in the eyes as she pleaded with all that was left in her.

“Please, please, please.” She whined. She did finally stopped wiggling, but still chose to waste her last words on a useless cry for help.

Harry just smiled, basking in the glow of his admitted victory. He pressed the cold, sharp edge of the knife against her warm, pulsing flesh, right above where his hand held tight. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” His voice soothed, lips pressed up against her ear. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Her next breath came out in a louder rush, but he cut her off anyway. He dragged the blade across her skin, deep and slow, so her blood gushed and flowed out in a river of red over his hand.

He felt so… free. He breathed in the liquid iron as he watched it pour down her empty body; every fresh spurt absorbed its power though his skin. She sputtered for just a few seconds more, before the massive loss took over and shut down her system.

 

Harry’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life than the one lying dead from his own two hands and Sophia’s pristine kitchen knife.

 

He stood up to admire his work from a different perspective, making a slow loop around to examine all angles. He was proud of himself. All things considered, he managed to execute his first successful kill without much mess, physical or otherwise. He wondered why he waited so long to try.

He wished his other mom was there to see. Instead of a pat on the back, he knew he’d probably receive a lecture on every little thing she could find wrong with this attempt, but that’s okay. He probably could’ve used the advice. He just so badly wished he could show her that he did it. He was officially part of the secret killer’s club now.

He wasn’t sure exactly how to go about burning the body after the fun part was over, but he considered the giant oven at work his best option. He’d have to keep it somewhere until nightfall so he could sneak in after the shop was closed.

Until then, he wrapped it in an old tarp and rolled it underneath the stairs so he could figure out how to clean the area next. All on his own, ever since she left.

 

  
\\\

 

  
“Hang on to your humanity.” Anne’s voice breaks him out of his memory trance. “If there’s one thing you can do right with your life, make it that. Keep doing whatever it is that you love, and don’t ever take for granted something many of us would kill to have.”

It might be the nicest thing she’s ever said to him. Just a piece of genuinely good, honest, motherly advice. Even going as far as to appreciate something about him for once in his life.

He’s left at a loss for words.

He’s not sure there is anything beneficial left for him to say. He could keep tearing into her, but it seems detrimental to his own mental health at this point, and the conscience he’s been so graciously blessed with wouldn’t feel right about continuing to take his anger out on her. She’s nothing but a washed up old lady, ready to meet her lonesome end. The threat in her eyes probably fizzled out years ago, while he was busy working through those emotional stages on his own.

“I’m sorry things had to end up this way.” He settles on that being the most he can give her right now. Maybe for the rest of time, and maybe that’s finally okay.

She shrugs.  
  
“You’re proof that I did at least one thing right.” He absorbs the intensity of her stare, saying one last mental goodbye before she’s gone forever.

He can’t stay to watch her last moments and she wouldn’t want him to anyway. She’d want him to remember her in this conversation and carry with with him as a cautionary tale of what his life could be if he doesn’t act with the utmost care in every aspect of it from here on out.

He gives her a simple nod of acknowledgement before placing the phone back on the receiver.

They just stand across from each other for the last few minutes until a guard comes to escort Harry back to the building’s exit.

 

**

 

Laying propped up against the pillows on the headboard of the bed, Louis waits patiently for Harry to settle in before the question practically hopping off the tip of his tongue comes. He watches his boyfriend undress, slow and careful with each piece like he’s trying to prolong the silence between them. Louis gives him space until the shower in the other room stops running, Harry dries himself off, and reenters without a word. He doesn’t bug him until Harry is completely under the covers, and still, it has to be dragged out of him.

“Well?” Louis asks, not near as simple as the neglected puppy inside, begging for just a tiny shred of attention.

Harry hesitates for too long. Not that he isn’t a visual work of art, but Louis is tired of studying the angles of his face. After weeks of barely getting to spend time with him, let alone talk about anything outside of blank surface subjects, Louis’s patience is dangling on its last strand. He’s tried so hard to be a good boyfriend; supportive, understanding, ec-fucking-cetera. The whole reason Harry even ended up in this cushy penthouse suite nearby his mother’s prison is because no sooner than the second before he suggested it, Louis was already looking up plane tickets. The least he could get is a real conversation from it.

“How’d it go, love?” He keeps his calm exterior facade despite the storm brewing in him. He knows this is a touchy subject, and he also knows that for a maniacal killer of the highest caliber, Harry is quite the sensitive person.

“It was… weird.” Harry says, staring up at the blank ceiling. Louis waits for him to offer more.

More than anything, he hoped this little trip back to his childhood would help Harry get back to himself again. Through all the shit he’s put up with in all his years, Louis has never felt a sunken void like that of looking the love of his life in the eyes to find nothing but a shell of the smile he’s fallen for every morning since the first.

“How’s that?” Louis briefly wonders if he’ll ever be willing to give up this endless uphill battle, and then his heart answers that for him in the very next second when Harry speaks again.

“I feel good.” He sighs, taking another moment to gather his thoughts. “It’s over. Me and mom, I mean… I fucking hated her for so long. But I guess I’m all done now.”

“That must be a relief.” Louis says.

“It is.” Harry nods. “I feel like I really don’t have to be so angry all the time. Y’know, that tortured side of me you’re always cracking on.”

“I just think you could stand to lighten up a bit.” Louis clarifies. “For you. You take yourself so seriously.”

“Well, turns out you were right.” Harry turns his head for their eyes to meet; land and sea, like the entire world was crafted with the colors blue and green in a tribute to just how much they were meant to be.

“It is what it is. Life.” He shrugs. “She couldn’t help who she was anymore than I can, or you can, or Gemma could.”

This is exactly what Louis has been missing these past few weeks. The honesty and realness that brought them together in the first place. This vulnerable side of Harry that is somehow always present even in his darkest moments, and yet only acknowledged for Louis, when he manages to break through Harry’s defenses.

“I’m proud of you.” Louis reminds him. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to face her, but I’m glad you seem to have gotten what you needed from it.”

“Me too.” Harry’s face softens into something almost like a smile, and Louis nearly chokes on the air in his lungs. He hasn’t seen anything near it in so long, a couple back-flips might be appropriate right now.

Instead he just smiles back, brushes some of Harry’s hair behind his ear, and leans over for a goodnight kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you happen to be a reader from before THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart I love you immensely!!!!!! It's worth mentioning that I have spent the past couple weeks editing + improving past chapters, so it may be time for a revisit if you're into it.
> 
> Comments kudos & all types of feedback are something I really love too!!!! xx


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